


City Underdark

by Scarlet_Claws



Series: City Underdark [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Art, Bisexual Male Character, Blackmail, Chases, Dark Fantasy, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasy, Heterosexual Sex, Homoerotic Blood Drinking, Homosexual Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Interspecies Relationship(s), Intrigue, M/M, Polyamory, Rewrite, Romance, Secrets, Slow Burn, Smut, Succubi & Incubi, Underdog Character, Vampires, Werewolves, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 94,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Claws/pseuds/Scarlet_Claws
Summary: No vampires are allowed in Gadrel; and that's why Barmond, weak and expendable half-blood vampire, is the one chose by his clan to spy on the powerful incubus that rules over it, lord Ranphoros.During his stay, he comes across handsome, powerful, werewolf pack leader Hugo, although that's not supposed to be good news: the man just so happens to be Ranphoros's second in command. In other words, they are not friends and they will never be, according to Barmond.Of course, the last thing he wants is to be noticed by Hugo. And, of course, because of his rotten luck, this is exactly what happens. Barmond will soon learn that to catch Hugo's attention in quite an intense experience... just not in the way he thought it would be.Updates Mondays.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: City Underdark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139822
Comments: 272
Kudos: 319





	1. The Intruder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sashetha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashetha/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Monsters Play Best At Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20300449) by [Scarlet_Claws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Claws/pseuds/Scarlet_Claws). 



> Even though starting a new story now is probably the opposite of a good idea, if that is what is going to get me out of my dried out well of inspiration, then so be it. I'm not taking a big risk here too, or at least I think so. If you guys can't wait to know what will happen next before I update, all you need to do is to go read Monsters Play Best at Night, which you can find on my profile; the first chapter literally recaps most of the plot of this version. And it's already got spicy sex scenes if you are here for that. 
> 
> Or don't read it, if you don't want to spoil yourself. We'll catch up to it eventually, and then I plan to go beyond it and talk about what happens after. I hope you'll be willing to give this version a chance anyway, and that you'll like what you find.
> 
> Edit: Okay, turns out that the plot is going to be very different (and a lot darker, #warningintags). Both can be read side by side.
> 
> Edit 2: Oh would you look at that... this turned into a series. THIS WAS SUPPOSE TO BE SHORT.

Whoever had said that vampires were pretty by nature had never seen Barmond. He might have some decent attributes to him – his long, elegant hands, his blue eyes, and his slim figure, for example - but that didn't save him.

First off, he looked old, older than what a vampire should. When the vast majority of his kind had been plucked at the graceful ages of sixteen to twenty-five, he had been reaped by his sire at thirty-eight. It showed from the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes to the greying of his otherwise red hair. He wouldn't grow any older now that he was undead, but he wouldn't get any younger either.

Second, he was a half-blood. It didn't show at first glance, but those sorts of things were easily guessed. He wasn't as fast and strong as the other vampires and lacked their grace. It was their inhumanity that made vampires so alluring; Barmond just looked like a human that could run really fast.

And third, Barmond had a massive brooding problem. That one he didn't mind. He had a lot to brood about.

For example, the trouble in which his sire had sent him.

From the moment he had been made a vampire, he had been turned into a half-blood and forced to take care of all the dirty business a full-blooded vampire was either too nocturnal or too important to do themselves. And really, sometimes it was hard to find the motivation to endure this servitude with a smile.

So now he was standing in Gadrel.

Gardel was a coastal city of modest size. The local wonders included the wonderful cathedral, pride and joy of bishop Klinver and the port, a crucial commercial point for the entire land, especially for the capital that sat upstream from the delta. Because of its position, it was of utmost importance for the bishop (and count Varrion, but he wasn't as prominent) to make sure that the city presented a unified front in the face of adversity.

Little known fact: there was a third ruler in Gadrel, and he happened to be the one thanked for the lack of supernatural-related incidents. His name was Ranphoros, but he went by lord Ranphoros among those that knew of his existence. And he didn't carry this title because it had been given to him; it just so happen that 'lord' was what one called an incubus that had reached a certain age.

He also hated vampires.

Of course, that annoyed said vampires to no end (never mind that they were insufferable to anyone that wasn't their close kin, but they liked to think that they _should_ be loved by everyone like they were loved by the mortals on which they preyed). They should leave Gadrel alone since they were in no position to change the status quo. But, of course, the very essence of being a vampire was that one always had too much time to think about things they shouldn't be thinking about; and hence why those supposedly immortal creatures had such a short life expectancy.

Of course, half-blood like Barmond had an even shorter one. No one really cared about that except him. As his sire so gently put it, "It would be ill-suited if you'd happen to live longer than I did. Not many vampiric covens would take you in after my most tragic disappearance."

Which explained why he, a vampire, was sent in a place where there was a high chance he would get a stake to the heart if he was discovered, to spy on a powerful incubus that was probably very happy when left alone. If that didn't make sense, that was normal. Full-blood vampires rarely made sense to Barmond. (Something about him being "too human to understand", or so they said.)

On the plus side, he had pocket money. That didn't happen often.

One good way from stopping vampires from entering a city was to make sure that the gates were closed in the night. At least that stopped fledgelings. Maybe not older vampires that could climb or even fly over the walls... like his sire could do. Barmond didn't have such tools at his disposition.

He didn't need to since he could just walk right through the gate through the day. He barely carried anything too, except for a bag, so he wasn't stopped by the guards. Granted, he had to make sure his gloves and hat were well adjusted so that he wouldn't accidentally get a nasty sunburn, and the light hurt his eyes. But he entered the town without a question. Even if the guards would have been on the lookout for a vampire, which they weren't because they were not under lord Ranphoros' command, they wouldn't have suspected one trying to cross the gate at noon.

No one ever did. Only a desperate man willingly became a half-blood vampire, after all, and Barmond looked nothing like that. In fact, he was calm and deliberate as he set off on a quest to find an inn in which he could spend the rest of the day - preferably one where the owners didn't ask too many questions regarding their client's nighttime habits.

It was with regret that he directed his steps to the seedier parts of town. He would have preferred staying in a high-standard inn, of course. But those would be the place which would allow him to survive the longest on his money with no need for additional input from his sire. And the less he spoke to his sire, the better. 

But he did enjoy the sights on the way. Human city life was so quaint, and Gadrel was a pretty place in general. Paved streets, painted house fronts and people dressed in colourful clothes were a common sight. Here and there was a carriage transporting goods, either towards the port or towards the gate, pulled by solid oxen or massive horses. He spotted some children playing rick-rick-money around a public fountain, hopping on the titles to the pace of a song until they reached one marked with a stone, as their mothers chatter away over their laundry. He spotted a rooster, sitting high on the street, daring anyone to come close. It was caught a few moments later by a girl dressed as a cook, rushing out of an inn.

Even the poorer parts of town had its charms, although very different ones - and charms that wouldn't have pleased him should he have been human. There were houses with fewer windows, closer to each other, casting their tall shadow on the passer-byes. There were the tight streets, the dead ends, the smell of many humans living in close quarters with each other - a bit like livestock. He was eyed cautiously by prostitutes, old women, skinny children and tired-looking men, a whole population of vulnerable minds that would follow him for a coin if they proved difficult to sway. Many things preyed on the poor, including those that were not supposed to exist.

He arrested his choice an inn that looked a little less decrepit than the others, called the Fishy Monster. A picture of a stylized Kraken was painted over the door, maybe promising visitors that its tentacles would be served for dinner. The place looked seedy at best, with low windows like an old man squinting at visitors, but on its head stood a high hat of rooms piled on each other. And Barmond's nose told him that the owner made _some_ effort cleaning, which was all he asked for.

He pushed the door and was greeted with a poorly lit room. This pleased him greatly. He simply preferred places where the owners thought that the candles could be used sparingly. Even the small windows, all crammed on one side of the room, only let in a trickle of sun, and that certainly didn't reach the other side of the room, the one where an aged lady was cleaning the counter.

"I'm looking for a room. I'll be staying for a few days," Barmond said.

She looked at him, her beady eyes taking him in. He wondered what she saw when she stared at his gloves, his large hat and his pale complexion. Did she see some of his old self, the human him before his downfall, or something else entirely? Did she smell what he truly was?

"We don't see a lot of your lot around here," she said.

Ah, his old self it was, then.

"I'm looking for a place where I'll be less... noticed."

"You mean my inn's not worthy of being noticed?" she asked.

"Not at all, I simply meant--"

She laughed, revealing a toothless smile. "Oh, I'm just an old lady, having her fun. Of course we'll be honoured to have you here, sir."

"If we could avoid the 'sirs'..."

"F'course. Nothing to be seen here."

She asked for the price of the room for a week; he paid her and then some, even though he had the exact sum in his purse. She noticed and didn't comment, before leading him to his room.

"Could we have one facing the back?" asked Barmond, not even stepping in.

"It's our best room," she said. She seemed genuinely surprised. "We got the sun coming in the day."

"I would like a room facing north, please," repeated Barmond.

She shrugged, understanding that further questions on the matter wouldn't be welcome, and lead him to a room with no sun pouring in through the windows. It was rather comfortable, maybe even more spacious than the first one she had shown him, and he approved what was in his eyes an upgrade before stepping in and dropping his bag on the bed.

"You pay the cook for dinner," she said. "I don't handle that."

"That is not a problem for me," he said. As if he was going to sit down and eat dinner with a bunch of stinky, poor mortals. He would rather suffer torture since it would basically be the same thing.

"Good, because it shouldn't. We've had problems with that. Also..."

She paused and looked him over once more. He knew what she was about to say before she did.

"Don't go out at night."

He scoffed. "I can care for myself, woman. Do you have a time where you lock the front door?"

She looked at him again. In her eyes, he could see that she was evaluating whether or not she was going to deal with the consequences of his obvious lack of self-preservations. She seemed to decide that she would - maybe the extra he had given her had something to do with that.

"There's no time where we close - I got my nephew guarding downstairs at night. But I'm just telling you, they are people out there... They can mess up a man."

He scoffed once more. Not that he didn't believe her - those "people out there" were the reason he was there in the first place - but he was a professional. He would never get caught. No matter what his sire might say about the subject, he would outlive him.

He was scared of nothing that went bump in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork of Barmond in this chapter by [Sashetha](https://twitter.com/sashetha). She calls Barmond "Barmood".


	2. The Witch

Opening the window of his room revealed that there was a way up the roof, probably if he expended a little bit of his precious blood to cover for the physical effort. This discovery made him like his room even more, even if he wished he didn't have to think of escape routes in the first place.

Ah, well, at least the situation could be worse, he told himself. He didn't want to imagine what sort of situation might be worse than this one, he would believe common sense this time. Besides, after he had taken a long nap to hopefully wash away some of the exhaustion and hunger of his trip, the evening was approaching. Soon, he would have to get out in the streets to see what there was to see. 

He was glad at least that he could leave his hat and gloves behind. They had belonged to him when he was alive, meaning that they were utterly out of fashion. Maybe he would have the time to have some new ones made for him while he was here and had a bit of spare money. At least the rest of his clothes were a bit more timeless; he wouldn't be standing out too much when roaming the streets at night. 

He met the gaze of the hostess when he passed through the main room downstairs. She seemed about to tell him something. He never knew if it was for another pointless warning about the streets at night or to ask him if he wanted some of the leftovers from dinner: before she could say a single thing, he had turned around and walked out in the street, leaving the safety of the inn behind. 

There was somewhere he needed to go. 

The night was his domain, and it felt wonderful to be immersed in it once more. The light of the moon illuminated the darkness the same way the sun did, but wouldn't offer him much in complete darkness. Rather, it was his nose and his ears that contributed the most to his finding of prey. And it didn't take him long when back in his natural habitat that he could do with a snack. Indeed, the more he thought of it, the more the taste of blood tugged at him, distracting him from his destination. 

He fought it, of course, quietly cursing the burning hollowness in his stomach, until he caught a sign of life in an alley ahead. He perked up, focusing all of his attention on the heartbeat lying in wait. A single human, apparently, that didn't move despite the fact that their heart was beating loud and clear. Alone? His fangs almost popped out of Barmond's guns when the answer revealed itself to be yes. 

It would only take five minutes, he told himself. He would be a fool if he let such an occasion pass him. 

Of course, there was a catch. Barmond realized it the moment he turned into the alleyway and noticed how dark the place was. Even to his sharp, cat-like eyes, he had trouble seeing the man, half-hidden as he was by a doorway. However, the man had no trouble seeing him coming from the larger street with the moon in his back, and he was ready for it. 

This was an ambush. 

When the man first pounced on him and Barmond caught a flash on the blade he held, the vampire became persuaded that he had walked straight in Ranphoros' arms. One hand shot to grab the other's wrist and the other to his neck, with the intention of tearing it out. But the moment he was met with skin and flesh - without the biting shock of an anti-vampire ward - and no allies jumped out of a silencing ward, Barmond realized that he had it all wrong. This was just a desperate man. 

A man that was no match for Barmond. 

He escaped death in extremis but the vampire's fingers still dug in quite nastily in his throat. He grunted, his weapon hand trapped in a hold he couldn't escape. Barmond used blood to slam him into a shutter, that banged against the wall behind it. The noise didn't hamper the vampire's frenzy. The moment he realized that nothing laid between him and a full vein, his fangs had deployed and his hunger had increased tenfold. 

The hand on the other's throat went to his chin, holding his face to force him to look at Barmond in the eyes. Subduing him was surprisingly easy. The moment Barmond deployed his hypnotic powers, he slumped against the shutter behind him, all aggression gone. For a second, Barmond thought that he had gained the advantage of surprise, but then he noticed the other's smell of sweat and drugs, as well as the tremors in his limbs. This was just another desperate man. 

The things he would do for blood, Barmond thought as he tugged the other down to present his neck. He had a brief thought about how disgusting it was that the other couldn't afford to wash before the scent of living human filling his nose took over. He kissed and licked the other's skin, looking for the place where the pulse was the strongest. When he found a place that suited him, he bit down, piercing clean through the skin, and then it was his turn to melt. 

His victim struggled weakly, both against the hold on his mind and the uncomfortable pain, but Barmond barely paid attention. He sighed through the nose when warmth flowed down his throat, to his stomach. And then he forgot that the other was filthy, he even forgot where he was. It was said that vampires fell in love with their victims during feeding, and this time was no exception for Barmond. He wrapped himself around the other, drawing him closer into his embrace, and moaned against the other, weakly, like he had finally come home in his arms. 

But he wasn't home. 

He jerked away from the human, spilling a few drops on the other's shirt - even if he couldn't see it, he could smell it - before he came back to his senses. He licked the wound, his saliva accelerating the healing process so that it would close almost instantly. And yet, for a few more moments, he remained pressed all against the other, enjoying his warmth, the feeling of his pulse. Even the scent of grim that clung to the human could have been a delight to Barmond. 

Then he regained his clarity and stepped away from the other. Ew. Disgusting. Barmond hoped he had not soiled himself by feeding on such a lowly source, the last thing he wanted was the smell following him all night. 

The man, no longer supported by Barmond, slumped to the ground. He must have been weak already because he had not lost that much blood that he would faint should he have been in good health. Leaving him there exposed him to being mugged by another predator roaming the streets, if he had anything on him of value. 

Barmond turned around and walked back in the larger street. He couldn't care less about the fate of some drug addict. And if he died tonight, it would only make the streets safer. 

Finding his way in the night, when there was no more human agitation, was a lot easier to Barmond. He perfectly remembered the instructions his sire had given him and followed the directions he had been given, save for the occasional detour to avoid the night watch, their lantern and their questions. He went back from the church in the middle of the town back into its furthest reach, where the houses were once more a little out of order and the people a little poorer. But this time, there was a humid mantle in the cool air and the earth, where it was visible through the paved road, was always a little damp. This part of town was under the level of the river and quite close to it; Barmond wouldn't be surprised if the place was regularly flooded during heavy rains. 

Finding the house he was looking for was even easier than he expected: not only was it isolated from the others, standing in the middle of an open space, but it smelled of herbs and concoctions. She must have left something on the fire, something that smelled especially strong too. Herbs, maybe? He was neither good or interested when it came to identifying the smells of any sort of plants, cooked or raw. He approached its crooked door and knocked. 

"Come in," said a voice from within. 

He did, and stepped down some stairs into a low room that was few inches shy of deserving the name of basement. There was all the furniture necessary for living save a bed, a fire burning low in the chimney under a pot, and over that pot was an old woman. 

She slowly turned to him, taking him in. Barmond had been warned that the sight of her was something to brace yourself for; yet to see the burned fresh and the glassy reflecting of her fake eye made his stomach churn. Yet he didn't look away, not even when she stared, and waited for her to be the first to react. 

"Well then," she said. "Isn't that a surprise. I didn't expect seeing one of your kind any time soon. You're playing a dangerous game by coming here." 

"I know," said Barmond.

She chuckled. He didn't really see what she thought was so funny but he supposed that he'd understand better if he was tolerated by lord Ranphoros like she was. 

"Well, then, at least that explains the strange premonitions I've been having about you coming tonight." She turned back to her concoction as she said that, covering it with a lid and pulling it off the fire. "What brings you here?" 

"Information." 

She paused. "That's a bold thing to ask one of my kind, especially for a vampire that has so little as you do." 

"My sire told me that he would be the one in your dept, and he has a lot more than I could ever give you." 

She laughed, then shook her head. "He's not here. I'd need him to be here so we can discuss terms and he knows it. He tricked you, little one. You're on your own." 

This couldn't be good. He nervously passed a tongue over one his fangs. They both knew what was the most precious thing he owned. 

"But of course, we're not going to be talking about price before we talk about what you want," she said. "I suppose you've already had something to drink on your way here, didn't you? I can smell it on you." 

Barmond made a face. "The blood or the human?" 

"Mostly the blood," she said, much to his relief. "Now, give me a moment." 

She picked up a small box on the side of the chimney, on which she gently tapped with her long, crooked nails. Two arms, followed by a pair of rolling eyes, crawled out from under a cabinet to assemble at her feet. She told them to make her some tea before she slowly moved to a deep armchair, where she sat down. She gestured for him to sit down on the wooden one in front of her. It was with a certain reluctance that he abandoned his spot next to the door and ventured deeper into her house. 

"Tell me. What questions did you have for me?" 

"I want to know more about lord Ranphoros and the people that serve him." 

"Is that all? Nothing about your future?" she asked, a wicked smile on her lips. 

"Absolutely certain." Only crazy people asked a witch for their future. He wasn't even sure she was of human birth, he wasn't going to give her the power to twist what she saw for him the way it would serve her best. 

"Very well." Her single eye went to his mouth. "Spit it out, then, dear. I know that you know what I want." 

He resisted the urge to hide his fangs with his hand when he spoke. "I'd rather pay with coin." 

"Coin won't cover it. All the dark secrets, all the things your clan would just _love_ to know. Give one to me and you can leave this town tonight. Imagine what sort of reward you might get when you get back. Wouldn't that surpass anything you would lose?" 

Despite himself, he considered it. He did want to leave Gardel as soon as possible, and doing so without having to risk his life would be ideal. His fangs regrew, after all, even it was painful, long, and humiliating for a vampire to do so. As for what she would do with it, he didn't really care, except if there was a spell that allowed her to control him by using it - which he doubted, as he had always heard that their value as potion ingredients often surpassed the value of a live vampire without them. 

_"It would be ill-suited if you'd happen to live longer than I did."_ His sire had not even looked away when he had said that to Barmond. In his eyes, a half-blood like the one he had created was a temporary tool. 

Barmond wouldn't roll himself in the muck if he could avoid it. Especially for his sire. 

"How much can you tell me for coin?" 

It was hard to tell what her expression was when half her face was nothing but ruined crevasses of melted flesh, but it seemed to him that her smile became a little more strained. 

"Your pride will be the death of you," she said. "Very soon, you'll be cursing yourself to choosing that. But who am I to care? It's your life, not mine." 

He shrugged her off. He would deal with trouble when he'd be there. It's not like he would take any unnecessary risks. 

"But if that is your choice, I am afraid that I can't change it. How much can you give me?" 

It was reluctantly that he handed over the money for a new hat, new gloves, and a woman in his bed for a few nights. "Will that be enough?" 

"Barely, barely," she said. "If you want me to keep quiet about you if they pay me a polite visit. Which they do, in fact. Quite often." She gave him a black-toothed smile.

"That will have to do. Tell me what you can, and I'll work out the rest from there." 

"Very well..." 

That was the moment where the kettle, placed over the fire by the two arms, started to whistle. She turned her attention to it but didn't get it. Her servant-things took it off the fire and brought it to her, pushing it across the floor to the best of their abilities. They seemed to get their fingers burned when they touched it, judging from the way they would sometimes shake them around to cool them. They eventually placed it on the low table next to her armchair, along with a cup for her to drink from. He waited the whole time. 

"Now, where should I start..." she said. 

"Ranphoros?" he suggested. 

She chuckled. "Of course. The man himself. Or should I say the incubus? He's quite the figure around her. Tragically left to raise his daughter Maggie alone, which is a shame." 

"I knew that already." 

"Of course you did, I never insinuated that you didn't. But you probably didn't know about her frequent escapades at night as she goes out to seek out her own feeding. Doing so much as looking at her might warrant you a death sentence." 

He nodded. That was good to know. "What does she look like?" 

"You mean, as a human? Young, dark-haired lady that's just as needy as a whore without charging you. Although she does, but you won't notice that she's vampirising your energy until it's too late. There have been a few... incidents. Of course, given that she's lord Ranphoros' precious child, she's so far gotten by scot-free." 

"Good. Anyone else I should be looking out for?" 

"There's Hugo." 

That rang a bell. "The werewolf? The one that serves and Ranphoros' second in command?" 

"Himself. Tall man, rather handsome I might add, always with a short beard. If you know how to recognize a werewolf, you'll know the moment you look at his face. You'll also understand why he's the leader of his pack the moment you see him. But, if you do see him, you better start running. He's got a better nose than I do." 

"I will. I also want to know where they gather, exactly." 

She smiled. "Are you sure you don't want to rethink my first offer?" 

"No." 

"Very well... Then I'll only tell you that they are underground, and have various entrances around town. All very well guarded, as you might guess. The only one that's only manned by one person is at the cemetery... but if Anselm gets his hands on you, not even your vampiric nature will save you." 

"Anselm?" 

She smiled. "Just don't go to the northern cemetery if you wish to stay... undead." 

"Hmm. I suppose you won't tell me anything more." 

"I suppose you still haven't changed your mind?" 

"Then I'll be leaving." 

"So rude," she said. "Someone ought to teach you some manners. I don't even know your name."

He stood up, staring at her the whole time. That someone wouldn't be her. She might be the most powerful one when dealing with mortals, but if he wished he could tear her head off right here and then. Of course, that would blow his cover, but they both knew that he could. 

"You don't need to know it." 

"And how about knowing mine?" 

"It's Garganda the witch. I've been told to visit and bargain with you." 

She smiled. "A good evening to you. And good luck." 

He turned away without a reply. She laughed at him, and he knew that she was only mocking what would happen to him in the future. He didn't care. What witches saw didn't have to be right, it was only a possibility, and he would do anything in his power to make sure that it wouldn't happen.


	3. The Temptress

He soon came to regret having given his money to the witch. He found out more useful information during the following nights than he had when going to her house.

Among them were the rounds of the night's watch and the coming and going of a few people he suspected to be supernatural. It was hard to determine what creatures they were exactly, but their coming and going were telling enough for someone that knew where to look. Barmond might be quite young for a vampire, but he had been trained for this.

For example, there was a shop in the centre of the town, a few steps away from the cathedral, that was run by an elf. A wood elf, Barmond estimated, because there was something cat-like about his face. By day, he sold vegetables and fruits that were so colourful that it was hard to believe that no magic had been used to enhance them. But at night, shadows moved around his shop and strange people were admitted in. (Barmond suspected the shop to be an entrance to Ranphoros' lair but it was all conjectures.)

And then there were the shadows that went around the streets freely. Barmond didn't mean the shadows in which he hid as a vampire, but shadows that moved on their own, forms that crawled up and down the walls, darker than the deepest pit itself. Barmond had heard of such things, he knew that they were called clawers because of their preferred mode of attack. Although he had kept his eyes peeled for them and had avoided them the best he could, so far it didn't seem that they were on the lookout for him. They were not the smartest - Barmond could compare their level of intelligence with the one of talking dogs. As long as he didn't run into a stalker, also known as the smarter, stronger, and faster version of a clawer - and the ones that generally lead gangs of clawers - he was fine just making sure he didn't step on one during his nightly escapades.

Going around collecting rumours also proved to be quite fruitful. Humans, while generally aware that creatures beyond their understanding existed, never realised that said creatures oftentimes lived right under their nose. And while that might be true for unicorns and fey, werewolves, vampires, incubus, and even demons had no reason to live elsewhere than very close by. Even so, more, often than not, humans still saw the signs that such creatures left after their passage, even if they didn't recognize them.

That is how Barmond learned of the existence of a group of "mercenaries" that regularly stopped in town, men and women that liked celebrating their victories together by drinking in a tavern. They never boasted about what they were fighting or never mentioned their employers, and among them was a tall, bearded man that seemed to be their leader.

There was no doubt in Barmond's mind that those were the werewolves he knew worked for Ranphoros. Luckily for the vampire, it didn't seem like they had ever laid a foot in the Fishy Monster. He gave the places they favoured a wide berth. Vampires didn't smell like much, meaning that oftentimes they were not noticed by creatures with a finer nose. Werewolves were among the rare creatures that were both smart and sensitive to recognize that faint smell of stale blood they carried, effectively singling them out among humans. (Of course, a vampire was rarely so unnoticeable that they needed to be identified by scent alone, even if Barmond seemed to be an exception to the rule.)

All of that, he wrote it down in as much detail as he could and sent it out every week in letters to his sire. For that, he had a contact with a human merchant that also happened to be a blood servant to one of the vampires of his clan. And, while all the letters were delivered straight to his sire's hand, he never received a reply.

Not that he wanted to receive one. If he ever had any letter from his sire, it would probably be choke-full of unnecessary remarks, all of which would be written in that condescending tone he excelled at.

He'd have to request some money soon, though. He was starting to run out.

But not tonight. Although he much preferred the taste of blood, he still drank alcohol from time to time. The one from the Fishy Monster was both cheap and surprisingly good for what it was, and he didn't feel like going out to explore the streets right away. That's why he stopped for a while in the main room for a drink, even if it was still early enough that people were at dinner. This was one of the rare times Barmond felt like he could tolerate rowdy mortals.

She came out of the night and into the dim light of the inn clad in a coat, but she quickly discarded it to reveal bare shoulders and an ample blossom. Men looked at her as she passed by. There was a mole on her collar bone and a second one at the base of her neck, like a trail that Barmond could kiss on his way for a bite. He was too enthralled by the way her dress folded around her wide hips to notice her eyes and the way she surveyed the room before halting on him. In his mind, she was out of his league. And she was.

She smiled and walked up to his table.

"Is there any space here for a lonely girl?" she asked.

She was a nordic type, he noticed, a blond with blue eyes. Which meant that she wasn't Maggie, which meant that there was most certainly space for her at this table. He smiled back.

"Of course."

"Thank you," she said.

She sat close. He most certainly didn't mind that, she smelled nice, like flowers. He usually didn't even like flowers, but for some reason it suited her. That cleavage of hers was also just within reach, meaning he could grope it if he wanted. He wouldn't, of course, but he really wanted to, so much so that he couldn't stop thinking about it.

"My name is Jessica," she said. "And you, handsome?"

The fact that she called him handsome felt a little odd to Barmond. It should have raised red flags. It should have warned him that something was off. No one called him handsome, that wasn't something he had a face for (or at least he thought so), so why would she? But he was too busy staring at her to care. She stared back at him, of course, like he was a piece of meat on a grill. There was something so inviting about her, raw and sexual. Maybe she really wouldn't mind if he groped her right here and there.

"I'm Barmond."

"Barmond?" She chuckled.

"I know, it's very old-fashioned."

"I like it. It gives you an air of class. Are you waiting for someone, Barmond?"

"No." He shrugged. "I'm drinking alone."

"One shouldn't drink alone. It leads to perdition."

"Would you want to drink with me?"

"If you pay for my drink, gladly."

"Of course."

He waved down the hostess, that came to serve them with a smile. For some reason, she seemed to have grown attached to Barmond. Maybe it was because she still believed that he was a noble in hiding that had picked her establishment as his temporary residence. Maybe it was because she felt some of his vampiric influence, even if he was a half-blood. Whatever was the case, she winked at Barmond when Jessica wasn't looking, as if proud of him. He would have usually ignored her but he was in quite a good mood himself; he offered her a brief smile back. Jessica picked something with the assurance of a woman that knew what she wanted.

She turned back to Barmond.

"Is there anyone in your life that could have shared a drink with you tonight?" she asked.

"No. I'm just here for a while until I have taken care of the business I have, and then I'll go back to my home." And then he added, before she could ask him where was his home or what was his business, "and you? What brings you here, to this inn, at this hour of the night?" In this attire. Smelling like that. And so much skin showing, like she wanted to get bitten.

"Loneliness. And I want a drink."

"Even with a stranger?"

"I was hoping that, by the time the morning comes, we'd be more than strangers."

This was expected, but very direct. Barmond felt himself grow a little flustered. During his rare escapades with the other sex throughout his life, he had always been the one pursuing. Now, it was as if she was the one chasing him like she was determined to get in his pants. He wasn't quite sure he liked it. If she had not been this... irresistible, he would have started to look for excuses to get away from her.

But all she needed to do was adjust her dress over her chest and he was enamoured all over again.

She received her drink and they spoke on. To Barmond, everything became blurry, even if he only realized that in retrospective. He pretended as if he was still the man he used to be before he had been turned because that was the persona he used the most when lying to humans. She spoke about being a servant of some sort, serving the daughter of someone very important. It seemed that she made advances every second sentence, and that there more and more explicit. Maybe it was the alcohol that made her that way, thought Barmond. There was nothing to worry about.

Eventually, she leaned in against his shoulder.

"You sleep here, right?" she said. "Let's go to your room. I want you."

"Yes," said Barmond. He could have said something smart, but that was the only word that came to his mind.

She smiled before she got up. He followed her, enraptured.

Her dress dropped to the floor in one seamless wave before she turned around. Even without the support of clothes, her wide breath held themselves high on her chest, their dusty nipples standing to attention. But it was her lovely throat that Barmond couldn't stop looking at, how long and smooth it was. His fangs itched to stand just as proudly as his cock as he undressed. He didn't allow them to do so. She invited him her arms under the sheets of his bed. And she was so, so soft.

Barmond didn't often get the chance to touch a body like hers yet, for some reason, he just wanted to get straight to business. Or maybe that was what she wanted, and he was only following her lead; he didn't know. All he cared for was touching her, her stomach, her pussy.

"Your hands are so cold," she said.

He grunted but didn't do anything about it. She didn't either. Moments later, he was penetrating her. Things only became hazier.

But he had one rare moment of lucidity, although lucidity was a far cry from the sudden hunger that overtook him when he buried his face in the crook of her neck. It was more like time suddenly slowed down to a standstill and all he could think about was the steady sound of her heart. His fangs came out. He started kissing and licking her, looking for the steady pulse of a vein.

"Ouch!" she said when he bit down. "Ow, you're a toothy one. Bad dog."

She smacked the back of his head but she also chuckled. He took that as an authorisation to continue, since he was already both ball and fang deep in her. So far, she didn't seem to be aware of his true nature or even what he was doing.

Her blood was delicious. He practically melted on top of her. A little more and he could have started to purr, but he didn't, knowing that this would be a giveaway. Instead, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth that spread through his body. His thrusts might have lost some of their intensity. He didn't care. She was the warmest, softest thing in the entire town and he wanted this moment to go on forever.

Her nails suddenly dug into his back. "Oh dear, you really-- hmmm..." Her humming turned into a moan, a small, helpless sound against his ear. "You really love biting-- Keep biting me, Barmond. Give me your teeth."

Those were words you told a vampire to get him excited, and they worked wonders on Barmond. He drew in a sharp breath and growled, before drawing his mouth away from her. The scent of blood exploded. He dove in for a second bite.

Only he didn't bite her. His fangs pressed against her flesh. Her pulse was so close. The base of his fangs itched. Her breath came out in short bursts. His nose was full of the smell of blood that dripped out of her neck wound and on the sheets under her. What was he doing? This was how he killed a mortal.

"No, don't stop," she whispered. "Please."

He licked her wound, his saliva closing it under seconds. And even if she begged, even if she pressed his face against her neck again, he only kissed her. Instead, he focused on his mortal urges, her hot depth around his aching cock, their bodies moving against one another. Even if this pleasure didn't compare to the one of feeding - it was so rushed, it felt so _base_ compared to the refined taste of blood - he dove into it headfirst.

He was terrified of what could have happened if he had really lost control.

He felt himself come close and pulled out. But the intensity of his orgasm took him by surprise. It was as if something suddenly reached out to it and drew it out, like a whiplash. He came hard on her stomach and breast, painting them white, as a short shout tore out of his throat. She cried out as well, her nails racking his back as she reached her own height.

The first thing he felt when he calmed down was tiredness. Content was there as well, the usual afterglow of a release, but it was drowned out by depthless tiredness. He got off Jessica and fell on the mattress next to her, wanting nothing more than to rest it off and wait for the blood he had taken from her to kick in.

He thought nothing of it. His mind was still too hazy; the only thing in it that could define itself sharply enough for him to focus on it was his still recent fright over losing control. He listened to her breathing and her heartbeat.

It seemed that she waited forever before she slowly sat up on the bed.

"Do you have something that I can use to wipe it off?" she asked.

"Over on the side over there," said Barmond, gesturing towards a cabinet. He would have gotten up himself if his arm alone didn't feel so heavy.

She stood up, and he watched her carefully. She was pale. He was not supposed to see that she was with so little light. A human shouldn't even have been capable to make out their way to the bed. He was lucky she had not noticed that anything was up.

She opened the cabinet and found the rag he used as a towel almost immediately.

"You got quite a few knives," she said. She giggled. "And rope! I'm lucky you didn't bring this out on me. Or maybe I'm unlucky?" She sent him a mischievous glance.

He found himself chuckling as he rolled on his back. "I'm not that much into it," he said. "I don't get a kick of tying up people as some do."

"Shame." She wiped herself down. He appreciated the view of her rear when she leaned forward. "I do, when I'm with someone that knows what they are doing."

"You do it often?"

"Depends with who I am with. I'm a flexible girlie." She turned around to wink at him. And then she seemed to get an idea, because her mood changed. She suddenly seemed... more predatory. "We could try out something else next time. Will there be a next time?"

"You want a second time?" he asked.

"Why so surprised?"

And he had reason to. They had fucked like rabbits missionary position for ten minutes at most, from what he could tell - and that was saying something, because the thing he could remember with the most clarity was drinking her blood. Which, speaking of which, had been _delicious_.

Maybe seeing her again would be worth it. With time, maybe he could get rid of this absurd impression that he was the one being preyed on rather than the other way around.

"I'm just caught off guard that someone like you would consider someone like me worthy," eventually answered Barmond.

She smiled at him and came closer, her hips swaying from side to side with each step. She leaned in and stroked his face.

"You've proven to be a lot more interesting than I thought you would be," she said. Paused. Leaned in. "A lot... tastier."

There it was, that look on her face again. He held her gaze but it was hard. He was so tired. Why was he so tired?

"But I have to leave," she said. "How long will you be staying here?"

"A... a while, I suppose," he said.

She smiled before backing away and then reached for her clothes. She got dressed without any flourishes, just a woman putting on clothes like there was no one watching her, then made her way to the door.

There was a brief second, when she opened the door and he saw the coutour of her sensual silhouette defined by the weak light in the hallway, where he realized that there was something off with her. Not in the odd, vague way he had felt so before. His intuition crystalised into a sharp point, until he was certain.

And then she closed the door, escaping from sight, and suddenly it didn't seem to matter. Vampires didn't sleep in the same way than humans but they did enjoy rests. He closed his eyes. Eventually, the blood he had drunk would infuse his system and restore him to his full capacity. All he needed to do was wait.


	4. The Hound

Vampires didn't sleep.

At day, they fell into a torpor where they couldn't move. Unless they were gifted with exceptional power or old beyond reason, they could not fight the crushing influence of the sun. This was the price they paid for their powers and immortality, and this was why a vampire clan accepted the creation of imperfect half-blood to protect them.

Yet, although it was still night time, Barmond remained in a state of lethargy, after Jessica left, that lasted a few more hours - although he only realized that after the fact. At first, he didn't realize just how much time was passing, and then he did but he found himself unable to move and too tired to care.

And then the blood finally kicked in through his system, allowing him to think straight. Once he got the momentum going, he finally managed to shake off the spell she had put on him. And it was quite literally a spell.

If he would have had blood flowing in his veins, it would have run cold. Jessica was not human. She was a succubus. That was why he had felt preyed on when she looked at him: that's quite literally what she had been doing.

He sat up in his bed. There was no way she would have known that he was a vampire, right? Succubus didn't have the sense of smell needed to be able to tell. She had just targetted him because he was staring at her when she had come in and because he was alone. He would have done the same if he had been looking for blood. She wouldn't have isolated herself with a predator, not voluntarily at least.

But she was from Ranphoros' nest. She wouldn't be allowed in Gadrel if she wasn't. He couldn't take any risk; he needed to get out of here. Maybe not out of town, but to another inn if possible, and as soon as he could.

He got up and started to frantically pack his things up. His knives, his ropes, the few clothes he had, all went in a bag. Outside, he could see sky clearing. Something about the amount of time he had spent out of commissions worried him. It couldn't be that bad. He was only being overly cautious. Right?

He remembered the jar of ashes one of the older vampires of his clan had in their study. It was all that remained of one of her children that had had the misfortune of venturing into Gadrel without knowing about the vampire ban.

This wouldn't be his end. He'd fight tooth and nails if he had to.

Despite the fear that made him want to rush out of the inn as fast as he could he bid his time and lightened his steps. And, for once, he was lucky, because that meant that he could hear that there were voices downstairs.

He stilled in the stairway, his bag over his shoulder, listening.

"I'm afraid that now is not the time for a visit." That was the owner, the toothless old woman. "Everyone is still sleeping at this time. We serve breakfast earliest in one half an hour. If you pay to eat, you can stay and see whoever you want now."

"I was allowed up last night," said a female voice. He knew it quite well. She had been moaning in his ear but a few hours ago. "We're only interested in one man, we won't disturb any other guest."

Jessica was back. He could smell her flowery scent from where she was standing, and she was not alone. Once he had recognized the innkeeper and her nephew's scent among the remnants of last night's dinner and drinking, it was easy to isolate hers.

And there was another one, too.

The little hairs on Barmond's arms stood on end from the moment he focused on that scent. It was a male, that much he was sure, a man with healthy and powerful blood. There was no way he was human with a scent like that: musky, dark, with touches of earth and underground clinging to it. Barmond had an idea who that might be. With luck like his, there was no way that it could be anyone else.

"It's fine, we still have a little time." That was _his_ voice, deep and calm, the voice of a man that nothing could scare. "We'd like to see him as soon as possible, but we can wait here until sunrise. I agree that it might be a little too early."

There was a silence as the man fumbled with something. Then the sound of metal - not a weapon. Coins, Barmond realized.

"We'd be grateful if you let us go up then," said the man. "If it's not too much to ask."

Silence.

"As long as you don't make too much noise," she said.

"Of course."

"The window in his room opens on some sort of inner courtyard," said Jessica.

"Oh. Does it belong to the inn?"

"To all the houses around here, so I'm not allowed to let any client in there."

More coin sounds.

"Jessica," said the man, "could you step outside for a moment and tell Patricia to go back there?"

There was the sound of steps as the people in the main room broke off from their conversation. Barmond used the noise to climb back up the stairs unnoticed before locking himself in his room.

He put his bag down. He didn't have a lot of time.

There were steps down the hallway. At first, there were two sets of it, then a pause, then something inaudible was said, even for Barmond's sharp ears, and then only one pair of feet crept closer. One could see the light of the sun kissing the rooftops through the window.

The door handle went down once, in vain. A key was inserted in the keyhole, probably provided by the innkeeper. It squeaked no matter how slowly it was turned but whoever was wielding it didn't seem to care much about how much noise they were making.

The door opened and a man stepped in the room. He was a towering figure, muscles rolling under the clothes stretched across his wide shoulders, pepper and salt hair tied back in a short ponytail. There was a long knife on the right side of his hip, in plain sight, and probably more hidden in the protective leather outfit that he wore.

He drew his weapon out as he made his way to the bundled up shape in the bed. And then he lifted it, reached for the covers, and pulled them away.

The pile of pillows, hat, and gloves in the shape of a human body came into view. Barmond dove out from behind the bedroom door, knife out, aiming for the other's back.

The man turned around quicker than one would expect for someone of his size and caught Barmond by the wrist, twisting his arm to deviate the blade. There was a flash of pain as the bones in Barmond's arms twisted and wrapped around one another but he didn't let go of his weapon.

The witch had been right, Hugo was very handsome. His eyes were blue. When he looked back at Barmond, it was clear that he was a trained warrior. Their eyes met and there was nothing but cold determination in them, the determination needed to bring a vampire down.

Which meant that he wasn't looking at the vial of silver powder in Barmond left hand.

He closed his eyes at the last second but silver still burned a werewolf's skin like the sun burned a vampire's. He didn't scream but the pain was like a wave through his body. Barmond felt it in the grip on his arm and pulled sharply, freeing himself. His blade went down with all of his strength.

He pierced through skin and muscle, and then his blade met bone. The scent of blood exploded, but not quite as strongly as Barmond would have liked: it meant he had missed the artery.

He saw the punch coming from the side and only had the time to rise his left arm to soften the blow. It still sent him flying over the bed. He curled on himself and turned his momentum into a roll before he landed on the other side.

Hugo fell to a knee, the pain stopping him from standing, but they both knew that it would only be for a moment. Barmond had also missed the tendon with his blow. And he was in the way to the door.

Barmond backed away and opened the window, that had only been pushed. He used some of his blood to quicken his movements as he pulled a rope from behind the rusty rainwater pipe, a rope hooked under the roof the first day of his stay in the room just in case he needed to escape. There was a woman in the courtyard, a woman with the pronounced facial structure that was so typical of those born werewolves. The moment she saw him, she scrambled to get her crossbow off her back.

He threw himself off the edge and started to climb, his knife between his teeth. He could taste Hugo's blood on it.

"Pat!" cried Hugo from the room.

"Got him!" answered the werewolf in the courtyard. And, indeed, she got him, right through the liver, with a bolt. Barmond hissed through his teeth as he lost his footing on the wall from the impact.

But she had missed the heart. And the stomach, where he kept his blood. He could take the pain.

"Stop!" she shouted. As if.

He heaved himself on the roof in an instant. But he didn't let go of the rope quite yet, instead, he quickly cut it, using a spot of blood to make it quick. Right as it fell, Jessica appeared at the window, showy dress and all. But she wasn't after the rope. She threw a little yellow ball at him, and the moment Barmond's brain registered what it was he screamed and jumped back.

The fireball bounced off the tiles, followed by a bolt that had just missed him. He was already out of there. All he could think about what how flammable vampires were, so much so that he didn't even look back when he heard a string of curses behind him to see if someone was casting a spell. Luckily, that wasn't the case.

And he wan straight into the sun.

He might have been a half-blood, but the direct sunlight still _burned_. He hissed to himself as the heat seemed to scorch its way over on every piece of skin that was exposed. But he had to keep running, even if he had to shelter his eyes from the sun to make sure that he wasn't running straight over the rooftop.

It was how he passed over the top of the inn then down the shoulder of one of its wings, then hopped over to the next house over a tight alleyway. He sheltered himself behind a chimney for a brief second, mostly to check on the state of his hands. His skin was red and already peeling, which wasn't a good sign. And there was the bolt still inside him which felt like the bitchiest cramp at this point. But at least he wasn't bleeding. Thank Lilith that he was a vampire.

There was a shout of alarm in the street in front of the inn. Several voices answered. He had to keep moving.

Climbing roofs in the poorer part of town was not the best of ideas. Tiles slipped under his feet, making jumping from building to building dangerous. He would find small respite behind chimneys and jutting rooftop windows, but they were never more than a second long as he hurried through, and with each moment that passed he felt like his skin was peeled back a little more.

And then he slipped, a tile flying off from under his foot as he leapt over another alleyway.

He hit a wall but reached up with his hands to try to grip at it, to anything really. But there was nothing to hold on and, for a brief second, he thought that he was fucked.

He fell in a large pile of kitchen refuse. Chickens, trash and maggots flew in every direction as he sank down to his knees in a living pile of rot and other things he didn't dare think of, despite his nose telling him all about it.

But he was all in one piece, and unharmed.

He quickly got up and hobbled a few feet away from the refuse. He quickly patted most of the muck off him, making sure that nothing too dirty or alive had made its way into his clothes while keeping a close eye on the people passing in the street in front of his alley. This was a dead end. If even the lamest werewolf runt in the world showed up, he was done for. Luckily it seemed that no one was too interested in him at the moment.

Everything hurt.

First thing on the list was getting that bolt out of him. Barmond breathed in deeply and started to unbutton his shirt; this was not going to be nice. He groped for the portion of it that stuck out of his back, estimated if there was any ribs in front of it... and pushed.

The hardest part was getting it to the other side and letting it pierce the skin. He tried not to think too hard about the damage he was doing to his organs and didn't look when it came out; he just pulled it out from the front. And it was a good thing that he did because he was certain that those nasty metal bards on the front would have done even more damage should he have tried going the other way.

No one seems to have noticed him, even if they were quite a few people passing in front of the alley. Or maybe they did and knew that it was best to keep their questions to themselves. Barmond couldn't care less.

Lastly, he reached for the blood in his stomach and diffused it through his body, in particular to the skin of his face and hands, while he buttoned up his shirt again. It turned out that the blood of a succubus was even more potent than the one of a human. By the time he had consumed all of it, he even had a little extra to mend the wound on his side and he looked ready to take another full round of sunshine to the face.

Not that he wanted that to happen. He very much wished for a shaded hiding place.

And speaking of a hiding place, this one wouldn't do. With a last glance around the street to see if there was anyone suspicious there, he walked out, stinky, hungry, fairly ticked off, but alive.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork of Hugo in this chapter by [Sashetha](https://twitter.com/sashetha). He's her character. There's what she has to say about him:
> 
> "He's definitely a fan of the messy hair look, but he probably spends way too much time taking making sure it looks good. His beard is better cut than his hair. Also, his nose got a little ledge on the tip of his nose." 
> 
> Me: "Like a dog? That's a very boopable angle on dogs." 
> 
> Her, laughing: "Yeah, like a dog. It's very boopable."


	5. The Market

A vampire survived on people. That was why a vampire trying to hide always went to more people and attempted to find a place in the crowd. Barmond hoped that the other didn't know that as he followed the ruckus towards a marketplace.

The Friday market was something Barmond was familiar with. After all, that was the time where he met up with the envoy of his sire, the one that carried his reports back to him, and so every Friday he would put on his gloves and hat and move to the marketplace.

The other one. On the other side of the entire town. A town that, he was sure, would be crawling with every single minion Ranphoros could throw out among humans without arousing suspicion during the day. During the *day*. He might be capable of remaining awake, but a vampire out and about during the day with no place to hide never lasted long.

He had a brief thought for a certain jar of ashes sitting on some table back at home. And then he chased it away from his mind. He refused to give up.

He quickly surveyed his surroundings. It was still too early to expect a lot of people, but most of the stalls that would be present for the day were already set up, and those that were not were being built. The sun had no yet perked over the rooftops between the houses, but the line it traced on the walls was lowering with every passing moment.

Barmond tried to not look as nervous as he felt.

His eyes landed on a butcher setting up his stall for the day, a stall full of freshly chopped meat. Meeting the owner's eyes sealed the deal: the man smiled at him from across the market square, a little shy, a little eager, and Barmond just *knew.* He didn't let the other break the contact, in fact, he didn't look away the whole time he walked towards him. And the man didn't move, literally hypnotized. Easy preys couldn't usually be distinguished at first glance, but then there was *that type.* The eager-to-please type, the unconfident type, the ones that would give away their life drop by drop for a shred of love.

He stepped behind the butcher's stall. Barmond and he probably looked the same age; the vampire forced a smile so that they might look like friends to anyone watching them.

"Forget me," said Barmond.

And, in one smooth movement, he crawled under the table full of meat. If anyone was looking on, Barmond was hoping that they would write this off as him searching for something. He didn't have the luxury of being smooth about it.

There was not a lot of space under the butcher's table, with it being quite low and with a feet rester, but he was hidden behind cloth and protected by the scent of raw meat piled over his head; this was all that mattered now. He could wait here for now. As imperfect that hiding place might be, hopefully, it would hold until the menace of the sun no longer loomed over his head

And, hopefully, he wouldn't get too hungry with all those humans around.

He already was, a little, the last few drops remaining in him being diffused through his body. Staying awake during the day was possible for him, but it came with a price. A price paid in blood. He didn't want to think about what would happen when his vampiric restrain clock would stop ticking.

Of course, his first thought was that he could risk hypnotizing the butcher again, but he knew that it was risky. He could only make people go slack and docile and erase their memory of him, which was the equivalent of punching a game of chest instead of playing it. In other words, it was a dangerous manoeuvre to pull during a crowded market day.

He laid back against a table foot to rub his face. He wanted nothing more than to sink into sweet lethargy. Sink and forget. Dream of the pale arms of Jessica, maybe, and the two lovely moles leading to her neck.

He chuckled to himself. Damn, though. He had slept with a succubus *and* had drunk her blood. He knew quite a few vampires back at home that would have given anything to be in his skin last night. If he made it out of there alive he was going to flaunt that until the day his sire sent him out on the suicide mission that would kill him. No one needed to know that he barely remembered the whole thing. He could lie about it being amazing just to see their faces.

He wondered how she had realized that he wasn't human. He had the time to do so; at least until his hunger shoved itself to the front of his mind. Was it the bite that had given it out? A vampire didn't leave a mark unless they wanted to, and she had been too busy slurping up his pleasure to realize what had happened at the moment, or at least from what he had been able to tell. (A prey that realized that they were dealing with a feeding vampire was very obvious about it. Something about being tricked into a life-threatening situation was always a shock, and vampire plugged right in their bloodstream knew right away when the adrenaline kicked in; it had a *taste.*)

So maybe she had realized afterwards-- Or maybe someone had realized for her. He could just picture it: her walking down a hallway, passing Hugo of all people, and him stopping in his tracks. Asking her questions. Her answering. And her horror when she realized she wasn't feeling a little wobbly in the knees because mysterious-redhead-stranger had had a magic dick.

Hmmm. Or maybe that had happened in a bed. He let that mental image sink in, grateful for the momentary distraction it offered. Hugo looked like the type that would be sweet and selfless because, of course, he would know exactly how to make every woman want more. And she'd whisper sweet nothing in his ear, like--

Wait a second. Hadn't she called Barmond a bad dog? Had-- Had she *compared* him to Hugo? Barmond knew, deep down, that he wasn't the best of lovers, but that hurt his pride. If she ever offered him a second night, he was going to refuse her just for that.

Not that she would ever, but just in case.

"Hey, erm, if you are not going to buy anything, could you please move on?" asked the butcher.

He was suddenly drawn out of his thoughts by the fact that it was the first time that he had heard the man speak like that: annoyed, a little confrontational. There were standing in front of the stall, two of them judging by the number of heartbeats that Barmond could hear close by. The market had been filling up progressively with more and more people, which he had done his best to ignore, but for those two he focused on their scent. He recognized it immediately, of course, with their musky undertones.

Werewolves.

Barmond froze. Not that it would help his case in any way. If he would have a beating heart, it would be pounding through his ribs right about then

"Hm, don't need to get your hair in a twist," said one of the werewolves. A man. "We're just looking."

"Your meat stinks," said a woman. "I'm just saying--"

"It does not, it's the freshest in town! Killed that pig this morning."

"Smells like rot to me."

Barmond could smell it too. He could smell himself.

"Well, it can't be my fault if your nose is clogged. Get out!"

"Fine," said the man. "We're moving."

Barmond listened in on their conversation further, using his superior hearing to pick out their words in the middle of those in the crowd. He couldn't believe that hiding under a stall of raw meat had worked, he was still expecting them to do a full turnaround and come right back at him.

"It stinks," said the woman.

"Let it go," said the man. "We got other problems."

"I'm talking about the *now,* right now. Hugo's took silver to the nose, and it's the day-- Fuck, since when leeches can run around in the day? And we can't turn. We're not made to track them like that."

"Hugo will be back in no time. And the moment he'll be, this hunt is over. He knows everything there is to know about leeches."

That was the moment they started to evade his hearing, being too far away to be spied on. Barmond had a good idea of what they were talking about. Silver burned werewolves like the sunburned vampires, and it seemed that their leader had breathed some of it.

Shit. That must hurt like hell. Barmond could respect a man that didn't even cry out in pain when what probably felt like melted iron was being poured down his throat. But it also meant that the werewolf pack, that should have gone after him as a whole, was now running in circles like a headless chicken without a leader that knew what he was doing. This was his chance.

Well, his chance to remain right where he was. It's not like he could be running around the streets. He might as well make himself as comfortable as he could.

It was around lunchtime that the hunger kicked in. He had sort of fallen into a daze that was partial daytime torpor and partial nervous alertness, but it was the feeling of his fangs sliding out of their sheath that struck him awake. He jolted, almost hit his head on the low ceiling of the table, and groaned.

Still stuck in the same damn situation.

If he was a full-blooded vampire, he wouldn't be hungry right now. All he would have to do was to look at a human in the eyes and they would have offered up their bed for a rest, as well as their whole family for a feast. That was how potent a vampire among humans could be, especially one that knew how to control the feeble minds of mortals.

But again, if he was a full-blooded vampire, he wouldn't be awake during the day. And then he would be dead or, at the very least, staked through the heart and paralysed. Maybe that would be for the better. If he were to die during daytime lethargy, that at least would be a painless death. Instead, he had this, this agonizing hunger gnawing at him as he waited to be found. Because he would be. Sooner or later, someone was going to realize that the best place for a guy that smelled blood to hide was under a meat stall.

Unless they didn't, and he made it until night. And then what? The gates to the city would be closed. There would be no exit until the next morning, and it went without saying that night time for Ranphoros was the time he could deploy all of his cards. Maybe the werewolves would even be allowed to roam the street in their feral form. For an emergency like a vampire, anything was possible.

Which meant he would have to escape through other means.

Barmond had walked all around this city. He knew it quite well, even if it wasn't as well as some others might, and he certainly didn't know it quite as well as the people chasing him. But he had noticed how the walls varied in height. He had already mentally measured the place where they were the lowest, and that was as they rose over the cliffs at the north of the city. No one needed high walls when nature already protected you. And the ten meters or so was something Barmond knew he could climb, with the wines intertwining over the mortar and rock's face. Even if he couldn't he had to try, he had no other choice, just like he had to chance the twenty-five-meter drop on the other side. Not that he would jump, but climbing down was still a better alternative than waiting for a bunch of werewolves to track him down.

There was only one problem. The place he was thinking of just so happened to be adjacent to the northern cemetery. The witches warning about the place still rung sharply in his mind.

His fangs ached. He passed his tongue over them, one after the other, as another solution came to his mind.

There might be someone that would be willing to help him if he was willing to pay the price.


	6. The Tamaar

  
Barmond watched the sun travel across the cloth towards the afternoon. He was hungry. He was hot. And flies had started to buzz around the stall, flies that sometimes landed on him. He had given up on chasing them after a while, choosing instead to lay in agony over his throbbing fangs. He hated every second of his wait. And there were so many humans nearby... his hunger only amplified his hearing, telling him about all the heartbeats that he could hear nearby.

But what roused him from inactivity was the butcher starting to tidy up his stall. Barmond tensed as he listened to the man whistle as he packed, not knowing how to escape this situation.

A plan, motivated by hunger and what remained of his wit, formed him his mind.

He kneeled as he could under the table and called out softly, hoping that no one would hear it. "Hey," he said. "Under here."

The man paused and seemed to look around, having heard but not knowing where was his caller.

"Down here," said Barmond.

He finally understood and lifted the cloth, finding that there was a man he didn't know under his stall. He seemed a little spooked, but not nearly as surprised as he would have been should he have discovered a stranger by accident. Maybe the slight influence that Barmond deployed the moment their eyes met also helped, although he couldn't tell.

Barmond beckoned him nearer. The man kneeled at his level, too surprised to think things through.

That was when Barmond hit him with the full force of his influence. One again, the man went slack, his eyes empty, and this time Barmond was enough out of sight that he could maybe... take a bite. Even as his fangs sank unceremoniously in the tender flesh of the human, he was tense, knowing that almost anyone could walk in at any moment. But the rush he felt when the flow of warmth hit the back of his throat was a delight, one that almost made him groan in pleasure.

It took all of his self-control to stop himself from taking more than a few sips, and again that self-control was motivated by his fear of being caught. Even as he was on the brink of forgetting himself, he could still hear the chatter of the last few clients nearby, even feel the vibrations of their steps through the pavement under him. He expected someone to shout in shock upon discovering a lawful citizen locked in a kiss of death with a vampire.

He didn't even spill a single drop when he pulled back, curtesy to a few licks, and then he was looking at the man in the eyes again.

"Forget this ever happened," he said.

He escaped the stall by crawling under the tent-like cloth protecting the back, emerging in a tight space between it and the building. There was still sun in the marketplace but not in the tight streets, for which he was grateful. He didn't have much time if he wanted to get a headstart on the chase he was sure was going to occur that night.

Gadrel, the city, was split in two by a river called the Tamaar. For some reason, its muddy waters were described as green by poets, which was the most ludicrous invention Barmond had heard about.

(And yes, Barmond read poetry. He had started when he was human and young, mostly to impress the ladies, until he realized that the ladies were more impressed by the poets themselves - especially when said poets happened to be writing verse meant to flatter them, or if they could easily imagine that the verse was written for them. But by the time he had come to this important realisation, he had already taken a liking to the activity and had never found a reason to stop. At least he wasn't reading _prose fiction_.)

There were two bridges to cross the Tamaar. One was on the direct route from the count Varrion's ancestral residence to the cathedral, meaning that it was rich in works of stone and statues celebrating the grand rulers of Gadrel. It was called the Carmilla bridge, probably in honour of some noble and long-dead lady of great beauty. The other was called the Gadrel bridge because everyone else used it. That included Barmond as he made his way to it.

But when he came in front of it and saw the long, unshaded expanse from his side to the other, he realized that it might be best to take the risk of waiting. He had yet to come across anyone recognizing him and chasing him, which was a blessing he blamed on an unusual bout of luck; a bout of luck that was bound to fail him sooner or later. He just knew it.

Finding a nook in the wall as he waited for better times was easier said than done, but he did find a low roof over what looked to be some sort of animal coop - the pigs and cow being kept in a place that seemed way too small for it to be comfortable, and that smelled horrendous as a result - that he could climb to hide against the blind wall of a building. He was still visible from the street but one could have to look up, which not many did when they were looking for someone. And then he waited, again.

So far he had not seen a single werewolf or, if he had, they had been too far away for his nose to warn him. This worried him but, again, what didn't at the moment? He dedicated a lot of his thought process to bring his mind back on his plan and only his plan. He'd think of how to deal with inconveniences when they threw themselves across his path and not before.

Like all vampires, he felt the progression of the sun in the sky, may it be visible or invisible - it felt like a weight pressing down on them with more or less strength - but the moment where its last ray disappeared under the horizon always felt like a weight had been taken off Barmond chest. He could breathe more freely, move faster it seemed, even if wasn't by much. All in all, it was just the time where he was supposed to live.

The moment he could breathe a little more freely, he hopped off his hiding spot and made his way back to the Gadrel bridge. Humans, acutely aware of how little they saw in the dark, were hurrying home if they weren't carrying any means to light their way; the sky was a deep hue of red, almost purple.

He came within sight of the empty Gadrel bridge. Well, empty save for a single man sitting on the stone rails around the midway point, a man with a luth whose solitary voice seemed to call to the dark waters below. The moment Barmond spotted him, he made sure that he would remain in the shadows to observe.

And he was right to do so. It didn't take him long for him to hear the faint but familiar flutter of clawers slinking against the ground. It was still too bright for Barmond's eyes to grow used to the dark, so distinguishing them from the shadows was neigh impossible. Yet, if he fixed his eyes on the most lightless parts of the road in front of him, he could see their edges shift ever-so-slight, betraying their presence. And there were many of them.

So... this was what a stalker looked like? Barmond wondered as he looked at the man. He had heard that some of them could take a human shape. He had also heard that their human shape could only be due to a bargain with another creature. Whatever it was, it was obvious in the vampire's mind that this was the herder of the stalkers and that stepping closer would be suicide. Unless he was becoming paranoid, which was very possible.

He sighed as he bid goodbye to the small pool of blood in the pit of his stomach. Time for plan B.

He moved away as stealthily as he could before he started to look for other roads leading to the riverbank. He soon came upon a wall after having climbed his way in an inner courtyard, and his nose told him that on the other side lied the Tamaar. He scaled it, checked with a glance if the man on the bridge still had his back turned his way - he did - before passing over it and dropping to the other side.

He expected the waters to engulf him in one go, not to find earth under his foot when he was only knee-length deep. Luckily for him, the splash he made when he fell forward must have been muted by the distances and the deep, constant voice of the Tamaal because the man didn't turn around. And, save for a slight sore in the ankle, Barmond was fine.

It took a few more step before the water was deep enough to dive, which he did gratefully. He hoped no one had seen him from the other side of the river. If they did, he'd know it soon anyway.

Opening his eyes underwater served no purpose: he couldn't even see his own hands. Instead, he focused on swimming straight forward, seeing that he didn't' run out of air. He wasn't vampire enough to pass on breathing, sadly. That would have come a long way right now. Instead, he had to pray each time he made a break for the surface that he wouldn't be greeted with the zip of an arrow - or worth, the horrifying sound of one sinking in his skull. He knew he wouldn't be able to regenerate a wound like that, but he also knew that it would be a long time before he died from it, unless he drowned first. Not an enviable death in any case.

But nothing happened. With each cycle of diving and coming back up, with each drop of blood he expended to fight against the powerful current and the weight of his clothes, he got further and further away from the bridge and the shore he had started from. He thought he was almost safe. He could see the gradual slope of the opposing shore right in front of him.

But then, from the depths of the muddy waters, a grip latched on his ankle, pulling him down. His head went under, then his arms. Fruitlessly, he reached up but didn't even breach the surface.

He was freed as he was caught, suddenly. He rushed to the surface, the cool air of the night kissing the skin of his hands when he broke through it, but his face never reached it. Once again, he was pulled down in dark depth by something swimming. He felt it move, not from it touching him, but from the currents around his body. He kicked widely. His head underwater, his air slowly depleting, he was starting to panic.

He felt something briefly connect with his foot, without being able to call it a hit, and bent down in half out of reflex more than out of a conscious thought. And, by some sort of miracle, he grabbed something, something cold and round and slippery. He recognised an arm only from the shape.

He opened his eyes underwater and saw a form moving in front of him. He lashed out. His fangs met flesh and sank in it before he tried to twist his head sideways to try and tear some of it out. The creature jerked against him, desperately trying to get away. He let it go when it let him go. It was a mad dash for the surface, finding his way by following the light.

He knew he didn't have much blood left in him when he broke through the surface. There had been some in the water from the creature's wound, he had tasted it, but it had only served to awaken his appetite anew. The shore was so close.

Somewhere over the roar of the Tamaar came a wail, the pitiful cry of a creature in pain. It was sort of beautiful, and Barmond didn't think that in a sadistic way. That's how he knew that he had just met a mermaid under there. The ocean wasn't that far away after all.

He started swimming faster as the cries rose in intensity. Soon there was mud under his shoes and he was reaching to climb.

A bolt ricocheted on a stone near his hand. He looked back at the bridge, but he already knew what he was about to see. The stalker had heard the cried and had finally looked back, spotting him right as he was reaching his goal. The man was loading another bolt in his crossbow.

Barmond didn't need more to prompt him to scale the rest of the way, all worries of discretion gone. He heard a second shot hit the stone somewhere near him, although he didn't care to know where. The other side had a slope as well, which he ran down. His clothes, heavy with water, weighted every single movement. His muscles ached from the crossing. He was out of breath.

The dark streets of Lower Gadrel were full of shadows, and he had no idea where he was. But at least he knew where he wanted to go, and that was all that mattered. He started running, hoping that he would recognize his way to the witch before the shadows starting reaching for his ankles.


	7. The Stalker

He barely took a moment to think things through before he fleed. The stalker and its many, many clawers were probably already hot on his trail, even if he had no way of knowing how close. He knew he would find out eventually.

For some reason, his shitty luck decided to show up right after he started to run. He took a turn at the last moment and suddenly recognized a tannery and its horrible, lingering smell. He knew where he was. From there onwards, it was one single, worried rush to the Garganda the witch's door. he could smell her, she was home and making something again.

He tried the handle then slammed his fist on the door when he found it locked.

"Open up," he said.

No answer. Barmond looked over his shoulder. The street was full of darkness, but that darkness didn't move on its own quite yet. He shook the handle, in vain.

"Please. I'll give my fang to you, I promise," he said. And he believed it. He'd give them both and feed out of a bowl for the next few months if he had to. "Just let me in. Please."

"Oh? Now you change your tune, I see." She was right behind the door, or at least it seemed so from the sound of her voice. "Too bad that your opponents are so close behind you."

"You want more? I can give you more."

She laughed. It was a cruel sound.

"It's a very tempting offer. Alas, I'll choose peace with Ranphoros over whatever you can give, little leech. It's too bad that it was never much."

"I could be your servant. Please."

But she didn't reply. And the door remained shut.

"Old crone!" cried Barmond.

He could have called her many things, worse things, but he was too hungry to waste any energy on it. He was also tired, tired of being scared for his life, and now he had just lost the last chance he had sacrificed so much for. There was no more blood in his body. Already was the edges of his vision darkening. He was going to fall in torpor very soon and he knew it.

He tore himself away from the door and ran in some direction, any direction. He wasn't giving up until he was cut to pieces and burned. They would have to pry his existence out of his already cold, dead hands.

He had no plan until he heard the heart of the beggar, and then suddenly he realized that he could still get blood. Even in the darkest reaches of Gardel, where housing was cheap and dodgy jobs plenty, there were still the ones that couldn't fend for themselves. If he had not been so hungry, he would have paused before going to feed on the bottom feeder - if he did that, what would that make him?

But he didn't think. If he was lower than the ground, so be it. He was dead anyway.

He rushed towards the sound of dwindling life without fear and tore through the meagre assemblage that served as the other's home. An old man. He cried, or rather croaked in surprise, his rusty weak voice unable to muster the strength of an alarm. Barmond gripped his rags and ripped through them. It was so close that he threw his last strength at it. He stabbed the beggar with his fangs... someplace on his shoulder? Barmond didn't even care. In the dark, the human was more like a pile of rotting cloth and bones than a shape.

He knew that he wouldn't stop until he had killed that man.

He didn't even taste the blood. All he felt was a wave of warmth that hit him like a punch to the face while his senses came back into focus. His instincts kicked in even harder than before and he tightened his grip on his miserable prey before he went for a second sip.

Yet, he had not forgotten himself. As strong as his instincts to feed might be, his instinct to survive was stronger. He felt more than he heard movement behind him. Before he knew what he was doing, he had unhooked himself from his prey and whipped around.

For a second, he thought that the alley itself was shifting before he realized that only the shadows were. Clawers, crawling along the walls and the ground, reached out to him with their shadowy talons. They were like rats, a wave of rats moving towards him. But, unlike rats, Barmond couldn't fight against them.

They grabbed him by the clothes. Their touch was cold, weak, but plenty. Barmond tore himself away once, stumbling forward, only to be caught again. By then, the wave was hitting him in full and the multitude of small pulls brought him down kicking. Even like that, Barmond growled, growled with all the anger of a trapped beast, and fought against them.

He was dragged away regardless. He scraped the ground as thousands of cold grips pulled and pushed him. Barmond clawed at the pavement and the dirt, stop his progression and maybe harm the clawers, but to no avail. He couldn't even use the blood he had just taken. It had already been used to ward off the inevitable shut down of his body. One more sip-- He would have wanted one more sip.

The clawers dragged him into the open, in the street. Despite their hold on him, they had yet to hurt him - they were bringing him back to their master. And the latter was walking towards Barmond, slowly, slightly out of breath after having run from the bridge. Barmond stilled as he watched the stalker come close.

"Finally caught you, little rat," said the man. Because he was a man, or at least looked like one. He wouldn't have been allowed out in the street otherwise, probably. "Nowhere to hide now."

He had a heartbeat and a pale face, although the spots on it betrayed some of his inhuman nature - they could be taken for birthmarks, but Barmond knew better. He was surprised to hear a pulse coming from him. He would have thought that a creature made of shadow wouldn't have one.

The stalker aimed his crossbow. Barmond tensed, knowing what came next. If he hit the heart, he would automatically go unconscious until they took it out - and that would probably only happen before they left him tied down on a rooftop to meet the sun.

There was the loud "shtak" of the bolt leaving its spot, then a great pain in Barmond's chest, but he knew right away that the other had missed. His body acted on its own, riding the pain while it lasted, coiling on itself. A second wave of pain rolled through him when he tried to heal the wound through his lung and found that he had no more blood.

Several things happened at once.

Barmond didn't know how he did it, but he tore himself from the hold of the clawers and pounced on their master. He growled. The other screamed. He had better clothes than the beggar, clothes that protected him, and Barmond didn't have the strength to teat them. He went to bite anyway, fangs sinking into the cloth like butter. He felt the tip dip into warmth, but it wasn't _enough_ , he reached no blood even if it was so close.

The stalker's form wobbled. Somehow, it slipped through Barmond's fingers and he was left with a mouthful of leather. He almost dropped to the ground. The stalker was now a few steps away, clawers pooling at his feet, and fear in his eyes. He looked a lot younger now that he was afraid.

Barmond spat the leather on the ground and growled at him. There were drops of blood dripping down the stalker's neck. He couldn't think of anything else. Right now, he was just trying to think of how he could approach the other without being hit again, to get back to this neck he had been about to sample.

"Stay down," told him the other. His crossbow was empty, so he went for the knife at his hip.

Barmond didn't stay down, he went for him again, driven nuts by the smell of blood in the night air. The man - the boy - cried in fear and back peddled. Barmond felt the passing shiver of clawers gripping at him but he had only one think on his mind. He had already lost one prey. If he got his hands on this one, he wasn't going to let go should Hugo himself appear, not until he was taking at least one of them with him.

And that heartbeat. He was going nuts for it.

"Hey!" cried someone from another street.

They appeared at the curb, and there was three of them. Suddenly the stalker wasn't scared anymore, and Barmond knew who they were before the one in front turned into a wolf as he ran. A wolf the size of a pony.

Barmond, shaken out of his frenzy, was already escaping. His preservation had overrun his hunger. He would risk one stalker, alone. He wouldn't risk a werewolf pack.

Or so he thought. The one that was changed into a wolf ran past him, turned around, and stood in his way, forcing Barmond to a stop. He turned around again when he heart that there were more of them running down the street, all in human form. Some had crossbows. The stalker was loading his own.

Hugo was there.

He trotted after the first line, calm and collected. Naturally, the others parted to let him step in front. It was clear that this was going to be solved by some sort of duel between the two of them, a duel that was already in Hugo's favour, one with no possibility of escape. Barmond already understood that this was going to be his last chance to leave an impression.

"You look terrible," said Hugo. He seemed amused. "How are you still standing?"

Barmond's vision flickered briefly. He was reaching his end, literally too far gone to reply in any way. Everything ached. Even the aching was starting to fade. Meanwhile, the only strain his opponent seemed to suffer was the ugly red mark across his face from the silver this morning. He was also bigger, heavier and stronger than the vampire.

Barmond pulled his knife out.

"Oh, so that's how you want to do it?" said Hugo. He pulled out his. "Come to me."

Barmond pounced on him. He hoped that he could catch the other by surprise, somehow, by also attacking with his bite. Hugo stepped out of the way and left him to almost trip over his own feet. Barmond, at least, didn't fall. He hissed at the other.

"Too slow," said Hugo.

Barmond spat at his feet. Tried to. There wasn't much of anything left in him, even saliva. He went to strike him a second time. Once again, Hugo simply stepped out of the way.

"Is that the best you got?"

He was smiling. Mockingly. At Barmond. Barmond was going to die and he was smiling. The others had even gathered around like it was some sort of show.

"Just die already!" said someone from the crowd. The stalker.

"It's a stubborn one," said Hugo.

It would be easy to go for one that was standing around watching them, but then he'd die like a beast. If he could get one more mark on Hugo... he had been denied a last meal, he had been denied dignity, he wouldn't be denied his pride. Whatever that meant for a lowely half-blood like him. His sire would be happy, at least, to know that Barmond had not died after him.

"So? I'm waiting," said Hugo.

Barmond's vision became a tunnel. This was the end, wasn't it?

He threw himself on Hugo one last time, but this time he feinted. When Hugo stepped to the side, his knife was in his other hand, where he least expected it. It left a souvenir. There was a gasp from the watches when Hugo bought his hand to his side. Barmond didn't need to see his hand with blood on it to smell it. It was a scratch, but it was _something_.

"Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me," said Hugo. "Well played. Are you left-handed?"

Barmond's vision shifted. Suddenly he was looking at the pavement. Suddenly he was hitting the pavement. There was a crack from the bolt in his chest as it broke. He was still aware, still aware of the sound around him, echoing, moving around him. Didn't mean he still understood them. Didn't mean he understood anything at all. Everything hurt so bad for a second, then everything started to fade away, one by one. It reminded him of the day he died... except that he didn't even have the beat of his heart to keep him company.

At least he had gotten a scratch on Hugo. It wasn't much. In fact, it was pathetic. But so was Barmond.

After that last clear thought, his mind became a sort of soup, a mix of sounds from the inside and flashes of delirium. He felt himself falling and rising at the same time. His eyes were probably open but he saw nothing. His mouth was full of the taste of ashes.

He fell under, in the true darkness.


	8. The Cell

To say that he felt things when he was under would have been a lie. He didn't, but that didn't mean that he was left of no memory of his time there when he would awake. It wasn't dark, because there simply was no sight in that space, but it was oppressive. It was the weight of six feet of earth weighing on the dead. But he wasn't dead. Somewhere, buried below, was an awareness. He knew that it could remain there forever, just waiting. It would be a fate worth than death.

A pulse. It wasn't his. Or maybe it was a memory of the time where he had one? It was too weak to be the one of his dead heart. It came from somewhere else. There was some pain with it, as well, even if it was diffuse. It was like sandpaper rubbing on sandpaper, the friction of which remained lodged in his chest cavity even after the pain was gone. Oh, and so was the pulse. Gone, that was. He wished it had stayed.

Please.

He couldn't move.

He didn't breathe.

A drop of life snuck through his lips. Suddenly, he was aware that he had lips, very aware, because the warmth remained there. A drop turned into a sip. He felt that go down his throat, down to his stomach. It cooled as it moved and, when it reached its destination, almost instantly evaporated.

It jumpstarted him. If he had a voice, he would have screamed of pain as each nerve ending of his body returned online at once. He was dragged through the six feet of earth, up to the surface, and that earth was, in fact, sharp rocks and shards of glass.

Yet he needed more. Again. Anything but going back.

He was given more. This time he sucked and tasted the blood for the first time. It exploded in his mouth, making him shiver as it went down. This time, it was the feeling of his muscles coming back to life, of his senses returning. Everything assaulted him at once. The first moment of his rebirth was a jumbled mess. He wasn't just given blood: he was taking in the whole world, and himself.

That was a lot.

He opened his eyes as a reflex. There was movement - something drew away from him. He no longer was being fed too, but that was all right for now. He turned his head, he moved, there was just enough light here for him to understand that the shape above him was a man.

Slowly, as if scared that if it went too fast he'd break reality, he shifted on his side and sat up. He was confused. Scared? Maybe. Everything came to him like through water. He was laying on some rags - a cell. This was a cell. He carried no bindings. All his limbs were there. His chest hurt like all hell was having a party in there. No bolt. Wait, no bolt?

No bolt, he realized with a touch on his chest. Why would he have a bolt? Where was he?

Hugo?

Who was that?

He was ravenous. He still had no blood in him. It was all already gone, so fast. He could have cried real tears of pain he wanted more so bad. But there was a pulse. A pulse. A heart was never empty when it was alive.

He looked up. This was Hugo, the man standing there that was. Barmond saw nothing but him. Already his vision was narrowing, telling him he didn't have much time. He jumped off his bed at him with a growl. He didn't even remember anything except his name, just that he was alive and that Barmond wasn't.

Hugo didn't flinch. He rose his arm, getting it in the way of Barmond attack. The latter latched on to it, finally, _finally_ , sinking his fangs into something warm. He clamped down, expecting a fight, ready to not let go until he was decapitated.

Nothing happened. He tightened his jaw. Blood beaded at the base of his fangs, Hugo's blood. It almost sizzled with life. In fact, now that his memories was coming back, he didn't recall having ever tasted anything so delicious. And... the other wasn't fighting him. He was just standing there.

"That's all?" said a deep voice - Hugo's voice. "You're just hungry?"

Of course he was. Barmond took a deep sip. Liquid life came down his throat, leaving the most extraordinary taste in his mouth. If the other wasn't going to stop him, he could close his eyes, which he did, just to enjoy the feeling of warmth that spread through his body. This was just an arm, so that meant he couldn't draw quite as quickly as if it was a neck, but he didn't mind. Not enough to try to get a better hold of Hugo, at least.

First things first, he mended the wound on his chest. That stung a little, but he felt a lot better once it was done. And then he was content to slowly sip on the other's lifestream. Hugo had a strong, slow heartbeat; he was very calm. And he smelled so nice. And he was so warm. Barmond wasn't even close to sated and he was already drifting off, lost in the blood.

"Well, doesn't that feel good?" asked Hugo. A hand patted the side of Barmond's head. It was rough, yet soft in its touch. "You're done fighting. Take what you need."

Barmond started purring. He... never purred? He had no idea why. The vibration in his throat was soothing and downright delicious. It travelled through his whole body, enhancing his feeling of safety and comfort. One of his hands went up to wrap around Hugo's arm, hugging him, and the other went to rest on his chest, at his heart. It was a strong chest.

"Woah there." Hugo chuckled. "You're getting a bit touchy, aren't you? What's that hand doing?"

Barmond opened his eyes and looked at Hugo. He didn't seem _upset_ that Barmond was stroking his chest, just amused. Hugo was so handsome when he smiled. He was the most handsome man Barmond had ever met. Even if he had no blood, Barmond was sure that he would be happy to just remain there looking at him forever. He _loved_ him. He couldn't talk, but his purring intensified. He slowed his drinking just to enjoy it for longer.

"That tickles," said Hugo. "You were hungry, right? I bet. You did well back there."

When did he do well? Barmond had no idea.

"Now, give me back my arm, all right?"

Barmond didn't like the sound of that. He ceased his purring, promptly replacing it with a growl.

"Don't be like that. You'll get more later."

He didn't just talk: Hugo got his hand in his mouth, somehow curling his finger so that it would press on the back of Barmond's extended fangs. A wave of pleasure washed through the later and he moaned. Hugo timed it so that he pulled his arm at the same time. Barmond let it go as a reflex, too busy with pleasure to care. He had enough. It was powerful, he could feel its almost jittery effect already. If only he didn't feel so good just standing there...

"Was that a moan I heard?" asked Hugo. He pressed again and got an encore. "Yeah, that was a moan. Gee, you're needy. I like that."

Hugo pulled his hand away, much to Barmond's regret, and presented the puncture wounds on his arm. Blood was already dripping down.

"Lick, please."

Barmond did, closing the flesh. It merged back together, scarless as if there never was a wound.

"That too?"

Hugo presented his wrist. There was a fresh slit on it. He had probably used that to awaken Barmond. The latter didn't mind licking it too, and he even enjoyed the lingering taste it left in his mouth. There was nothing better than blood. Well, except good company. Companie like the one of Hugo, that was so handsome and that spoke so sweetly to him. Barmond was aware of very little outside of him, other than the fact that he was like butter in his warm hands.

Hugo then shifted their positions. He pulled Barmond close to him, while holding him by the hair on the back of his head to make him look up. They were chest against chest. Hugo's heart pounded steadily, and that pounding resonated inside Barmond's chest like in a drum. The vampire gasped. Now that he was feeling safe and fed, whatever sensation Hugo kept giving him was starting to make him squirm. Barmond would be very embarrassed to admit that he was getting aroused, even if it was the truth.

"Hush, hush, sweet-tooth," said Hugo. "Just listen to it. Relax."

Barmond drew in a shaky breath. His body was awakening and returning to its normal state after his slumber, yet already the warmth of the pool was pooling in his stomach. He wanted to sink his teeth in him again. And he wanted him. Hugo, so much bigger and taller than him, full of life and delicious blood. The dark, mean beast that lived in every vampire was completely captivated by him.

"That's more like it," said Hugo. "What's your name?"

"Barmond... Rotberg."

"And you're a half-blood?"

Barmond hesitated.

"No need to be embarrassed. I think it's amazing. Half-bloods have their own merits, don't you think?"

Barmond didn't think so, but the other's low, warm voice almost convinced him. He nodded.

"And who made you that way, Barmond? Who's your sire?"

"Otto von Schwertzwald."

"You're doing so well." Hugo stroked the side of Barmond's face. "Let's take a short break. There. Relax a little."

Hugo pressed Barmond's head against his chest. He was tall enough that he could tuck the vampire's head under his chin with ease, and wide enough that Barmond could barely wrap his arms around him. He clung to the back of his jacket. Hugo smelled dark, musky, with hints of earth and underground clinging to him. And beneath, a heart and some blood, singing to him. Barmond loved it, he could get lost in his scent alone. He was getting dizzy, but it was a good type of dizzy, the sort of dizzy where he didn't mind being pushed down on his back and touched some more. He thought back to when Hugo had pressed on the back of his fangs, the spark of pleasure he had felt from it. He wanted it again.

"I got a few more questions for you," said Hugo. "Because I know Otto, and he lives far away. What brings you to Gardel?"

"To Gardel?" asked Barmond.

He reached into his mind, and suddenly who Hugo _was_ came back to smack him in the face. Why he was here. What was happening. it all came back in one go, and suddenly Barmond didn't feel quite as safe as he did before.

He pushed Hugo away from him, violently. Hugo didn't budge, but that sent Barmond back, towards the bed in the cell he was being kept. On the other side of the silver-tinted bars were others, guards, that had watched the whole thing. That had seen it all.

None of them were his friend, Hugo least of them. They had been trying to kill each other... whenever it had been last time they had met. It could have been years ago and Barmond wouldn't know.

"Guess it's finished," said Hugo. "Too bad. You were kind of cute, for a vampire."

"You... you used me!" cried Barmond. "You tricked me-- You did-- That was _vile_."

"It's a fair trade from where I'm standing."

Barmond sat down on the plank of wood that served as his bed and put his head in his hands. He had been willing to go through torture before telling the name of his envoy. Never had he expected someone to... what had Hugo done to him? He had given some blood, and then it had felt so good, and he had just spilt everything like he was a friend.

Hugo backed off, but not out of fear. One of the guards holding the entrance of the cell opened it for him.

"Look on the bright side," said Hugo right as stepped out. "You're not going to get tortured now. You'll be fed until we know what to do with you."

"Kill me, probably," said Barmond.

"Not necessarily. We'll speak later."

He turned away, followed by one of the guards, leaving one behind. By the smell of them, they were probably all werewolves. It made sense that they would serve as guarding dogs. The more Barmond was learning about werewolves, the more he disliked them.

Well, apart from the fact that their blood did taste really nice. Or maybe it was just Hugo.

His sire was going to murder him when he's going to know that he was caught. Barmond leaned back against the cold wall of his cell with a sigh. Otto would have been fine if he had died. Died without leaving a trace...

He would be lucky if he ever got back to his sire. He had gone against the ban on vampires in the city, and the penalty for that was very clearly death. In fact, it was a surprise that he wasn't already shortened by a head. Maybe they still needed something out of him, or maybe Hugo was just waiting for the permission to execute him from his lord. To think that Barmond had fought tooth and nail for an honourable death, just to risk being outed in some old dingy cell was pathetic.

And what the heck had that been with Hugo? Barmond was not surprised by how he had been plunged in a daze, he knew the feeling already from his feeding. The shocking part was how perfectly Hugo had catered to him just to keep him in that state. He had done it before, or he knew how vampires worked. Where had he learned that? No vampire in their right mind would have taught him their weak points, not to an enemy.

To an ally, maybe. To a lover, most likely.

He felt deep shame just thinking back to it. Barmond might be okay when it came to sleep with random women, but showing himself in such a vulnerable way in front of others was a nightmare come true. He didn't know how he was going to live that down. And because he didn't really know what to do when he felt ashamed, he became mad about it. Anger was a lot easier to deal with then shame.

The fact of the matter was, if Hugo really knew vampires like the back of his hand, Barmond could be in deep, deep trouble. Who was he kidding? He already was. He had been in trouble from the moment Jessica had taken of her coat back at the Fishy Monster on that night. Curse her.

Barmond refused to talk with his guard, or even check if there was another prisoner near his cell. He laid down on the dingy plank of wood, taking note that it was probably night outside, and knew that he was about to spend some time alone with his thoughts.


	9. The Daughter

Hugo came back.

Barmond knew right away it was him from his smell. They said that once a vampire had drank the blood of a mortal, that they always recognized their scent. So far, Barmond had yet to see it proven wrong. That didn't mean he was about to aknowledge that he was there. Barmond was still mad about having been made a fool earlier.

"I know you're not asleep, Barmond," said Hugo.

"Don't use my name," said Barmond.

"I see that you've decided to behave while I was gone, vampire," said Hugo. "I'll make sure to mention that to lord Ranphoros when I see him."

Barmond opened his eyes and stood up from his bed to face Hugo. He crossed his arms behind his back and stood with his feet apart. Hugo was a lot more relaxed. One arm against the cell bars over his head, he was leaning and staring Barmond down. His face, however, showed very little emotion.

"I've come to tell you that you will not be executed, not right away at least. I'm sure you're glad to know that."

"Hmm."

Barmond could talk about how his sire would be sure to take care of that when he came home, but the last thing he wanted was Hugo's pity.

"Bear in mind," added Hugo, "that this decision is temporary. Lord Ranphoros does not appreciate spies."

"When have I said that I was a spy?"

"We already knew that you were. We have your stuff, and we looked through it." He paused, before adding, "All we needed was the name of who you were adressing in your reports."

Barmond didn't reply. He stared down the werewolf. If only he had a silver tipped knife he could drive into Hugo's chest. He was wide enough that it would be an easy target.

"If I may add, you are lucky that you were only a spy. That had made forgiving your threspassing easier for my lord. Should you have come with the intent of harm, not even my vouching would have appeased him."

"Wait. Your vouching?"

Hugo gave him a smug smile. What was that supposed to mean?

"What did you tell him?" asked Barmond.

"I only remarked on certain things I noticed."

Barmond bit his tongue, stopping himself from asking more questions. Why would Hugo be vouching for him? All Barmond had done for him had been rearranging his face with silver powder and stabbing him in the leg, and that didn't even count how difficult he must have made his day.

"That is all I've come to say," said Hugo. "Have a good night."

He was already turning away when Barmond called out to him.

"Hugo?"

"Oh?" The other turned his head. "So you can call my name, but I can't?"

"Next time you try to do this thing on me, this..."

"It's called bloodblissing."

"This bloodbliss. I'll bite off your nose."

"With what?" He rose his brows. "Your fangs? But aren't they cute little kittens?"

Oh, he did _not_ just say that.

Barmond pounced forward, slamming into the bars of his cell. The guard jerked back, surprised. Hugo didn't. He just laughed, standing just out of reach. Barmond could have sworn that he was about to tear the whole place down to rip out his eyes.

"Calm down," said Hugo. "Your insecurity's showing."

"You. Are. The biggest twice-arsed bitch-fucking mutt I have met in my life."

"I don't know about you, but I think they are cute."

"They are _not_ cute! They are perfectly average, fine _canines_!"

"I'll be looking forward to some nose-nibbling then." He waved Barmond, and was off.

"Go die under a bridge, troll!"

Hugo did his best not to laugh but Barmond could hear his chuckle as he passed the door to the outside. If he got his hands on him, he was going to make him a _triple_ -arsed bitch-fucking mutt.

The guard was staring at Barmond, obviously confused by what had just happened. Barmond hissed at him until he diverted his gaze. He then stepped away from the bars and returned to his plank bed.

He stayed mad about Hugo until the sun rose and he fell into blissful lethargy.

Days passed, and they were extremely boring. The only thing of interest that happened was that he got a cup of fresh blood every evening before midnight, and that was it. He never saw the donor, it was always brought to him through the door leading to the cells by a werewolf. He savoured it, blood was blood. Some vampires would have found it scandalous to be denied the occasion to drink straight from the vein and they were lucky Barmond wasn't one of them.

For the rest of the time, he stayed laying and doing nothing but thinking. He would have slept if he would have been capable of doing so, but that was not possible. Instead, he slipped in some sort of trance, staring at the burning torch that hung in front of his cell until it was etched at the back of his retina. They changed it every hour, and they changed guards every three torches.

Although Barmond did think it was strange that he was only being guarded by werewolves. Surely Ranphoros' equivalent of a military force wasn't only made of Hugo's pack? Barmond knew that this wasn't true, from his observations. Unless it was Hugo himself behind it all, making sure that he had his men (and women) on the lookout for the vampire. It would be typical for a werewolf to think that only their kind was trustworthy.

As mentioned before, he knew when the guards were changing by heart. On top of that, no one visited the cells. Who would be visiting the vampire prisoner? So Barmond was quite surprised when he heard the door open before its time, although he pretended as if he was sleeping.

"Oh, lady Maggel," said the guard. "I'm sorry, but Hugo said--"

"What? Hush-hush," said a feminine voice. "I'm just passing. Surely you'll let this one slide?"

Barmond couldn't resist. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at who was there.

She was a succubus, that much was clear. Barmond could tell, this time, because she had wings, small, black, and feathery, along with a tail and cute stubby horns. Her skin was a shade between purple and magenta. She showed a lot of it and her white silk robe didn't hide the rest.

"Your father will not approve if I did," said the guard.

Lady Maggel sighed. "Then I suppose that I must comply with the rules... Or... You could... Take that!"

She suddenly struck with her arm and a flash of magic passed between her and the guard. The latter stumbled back, against the wall, and stayed there unmoving.

Barmond sat upon his bed, his brows raised high.

She moved to the guard and snapped her fingers in front of his eyes a couple of times before she reached to delicately close them when he didn't react. She then turned to Barmond with a big smile.

Last time Barmond had seen such a hungry look, it was when Jessica was reeling him in for feeding back at the _Fishy Monster_. Lady Maggel was also a succubus. It wasn't hard to see where this was going.

"Finally we meet, Barmond," she said.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

She giggled. Last time Barmond checked he still didn't know how to make women laugh. Something was really out of place here.

"No, no you don't," she said. She moved her hands a lot when she spoke. "Not yet. But I've heard so much about you that it's like I know you already. I'm very excited-- well, maybe not in the sense that you might think-- okay, maybe a bit in that sense as well. Oh, would you please step closer? I want to see you."

Barmond did not want to come closer. Maggel might be very cute, with her big eyes blue, her heart-shaped face, her jaw-long black hair and her hourglass figure, but she was a succubus and he was a man in a cage. He crept towards her and the torch anyway, slowly. It's not like he had a choice, less she zapped him from across the room.

"Oh! You're older than I thought you would be."

He didn't have anything nice to reply to that so he stayed quiet.

"Not that I mind," she continued. "I prefer experienced men. And you're a vampire. Jessica said that you taste _amazing_. But that meanie Hugo has been trying to make sure that I don't get anywhere near you because he's being all possessive. Just because he caught you, now you're some sort of prize for him or something. It's not fair. Everyone shares here, so why would he keep you for himself?"

"Keep me for himself?" Repeated Barmond. He had the impression that he was dreaming. What was this woman on about? Who was she? "I have a lot of questions."

"Why? It's obvious. He doesn't let anyone get to you, even when I asked him really, really nicely if I could. He's trying to cheat. As I said: everyone shares here." She fluttered her lashes.

Barmond was about to ask something, but he stopped himself. He needed to consider his next move very carefully. This Maggel was pretty, but she was out of left field and spoke like she was completely out of touch with reality. This could be an unexpected chance, if he knew how to take it. If she got him out of his cell...

"But let's not talk here," she said. "Last thing we'd want is to have someone walk in on us, right? And your cell is..." She looked around and her little nose scrunched up in disgust. "I'd rather we be somewhere else."

"Somewhere else?" he asked.

"A special little place." She grinned. "You'll see. We're going to have lots of fun."

"I... guess."

Barmond glanced at the guard. He was still slumped against the wall, unmoving, with his eyes closed. If he had to guess, he would say that she had used some sort of stupor spell on him. Seeing a succubus using magic wasn't surprising, but the power of that one was startling. Once again, he decided that it was best not to comment.

She produced a key ring and started to fiddle with the lock of Barmond's cell. Where had she gotten them? Where was she hiding them? Barmond had no clue. He only stood there, watching as the events unfolded, until she pushed the door open.

"Now, we both know that we'll be in lots of trouble if you run, you especially," she said. "I'm just borrowing you for a little fun."

"I would never run," Barmond lied. And then, he added, for good measure, "I _love_ fun. Especially fun with a lovely little lady like you."

She giggled. That was what she wanted to hear. Barmond smiled at her, hoping he looked sincere enough. He had to admit that smiling was very out of character for him, but she didn't look like she knew that. In fact, she didn't look like she knew much about anything at all, and that was good for him.

"Okay, so," she said, "I'll lead the way and you'll follow me, all right? And then if I see anything, you'll have to hide. Anywhere will be fine. It's not far, you'll see."

"I'll trust you."

She was really letting him out. Wow.

He stepped after her, hesitantly. Was this some sort of trap? Maybe she was the envoy of an ally. But then why wouldn't she say so? And why had the guard called her Lady Maggel?

"So..." he trailed off. "Who are you again?"

"For you, it's Maggie," she told him with a charming smile.

Oh. He knew that name.

This was the single, precious daughter of Lord Ranphoros himself. In other words, if a single scratch got on her, Barmond would probably be chased to the confines of the worlds and pushed over its edge into the flaming depth of hell. He breathed in deeply just to calm his rising panic. His position, despite Hugo's reassurances, couldn't be anything but precarious; if they were found together, that could be the end of the line for Barmond.

She, oblivious to his inner turmoil, went to the door, opened it, and peered outside.

"All clear," she said, before frolicking on her merry way.

He glanced between the door left ajar and his cell. The safest option was probably to stay in it. He could also be waiting for the order of his execution behind those bars. Had he really fought until he fell dead at Hugo's feet for this?

He followed her at once.

Maggie was having the time of her life, obviously, moving quietly and looking around corners like they were on some secret mission. As far as Barmond could tell, they were underground, in the tunnels under the city where Ranphoros and his nest resided. They were rather featureless. The moment they moved past the last torch, the tip of Maggie's fingers lit up, shedding the light they needed to see their way. Neither of them said a thing.

Barmond watched her carefully. She was still showing no sign of fear. Her heart was racing but, if he had to guess it was of excitement. Did she realize how big of a mistake she was making? Probably not. Maybe he was judging on appearances, but she came across as sheltered and spoiled. That was his best explanation for his entire situation.

"We'll stop here," she said. She rose her hand over her head, lighting a path that stretched up into the dark. Barmond could smell the earth, but also the salty air of the sea. "Further up, you'll find Anselm, and you don't want to find Anselm. Behind me, you got the guards of my father and your cell. So, really, there's nowhere to run."

Anselm. The name struck a bell. Garganda the witch had told him about Anselm. Anselm, the guardian of the northern cemetery. Where the wall around the city could be climbed.

"You know," she said, rambling on, "I'm lucky you cooperated. I don't have any more magic to subdue you."

He was barely listening to her. 'But if Anselm gets his hands on you, not even your vampiric nature will save you,' had said Garganda. Goddess Lilith, that felt like forever ago. Bitch. 

"There's our little lovenest," cooed Maggie. It was a pile of blankets on the ground, some of which looked too fine to be thrown down in some dark, dirty gallery. "It's not much, but it'll be enough. What do you think?"

She had her back to him.

He was running before she even knew it. The light from her fingers guided him for a dozen or so steps, and then there was a sharp turn. He heard her cry out behind him. Of course he ignored her. He couldn't see a single thing in front of him yet he still walked swiftly.

He tripped on the steps, rushed up, then slammed his head on the ceiling. A wood ceiling, in a stone gallery. He frantically felt for a handle or some sort of locket, before he realized that there was none. It simply wouldn't budge because there was something on it, weighing it down.

He reached for his blood reserves and pushed up. If he had been made of wood and metal, his entire body would have groaned from the effort; instead, it manifested through pain. But he lifted the trapdoor. Something fell with a crash above him and suddenly he could open it all the way.

Light from the stars fell on the tripped table and the dusty interior of a tiny room. It came from the moon, that could be glimpsed between the metal bars of a small window right in front of him. He stepped out and closed the way behind him before rushing to unlock the room's door. The lock was old and rusty, but it was no match to Barmond's blood-fueled strength.

He stepped outside for the first time in nights, in a cemetery. There were a few weeping willows planted around the perimeter, giving it a cosy feeling. There was no describing how good it felt to have a light ocean breeze blowing through his hair. It tasted of freedom.

He wasn't out yet, he told himself.

"Barmond, please," said Maggie. She was at the window of the hut he had just escaped, talking to him through the bars. "If Rara-- I mean if my father ever finds out you're escaped, he'll be so mad. Come back. I promise I'll give you everything you want. Please."

He felt her trying to grapple his feelings, trying to manipulate them to create lust. He knew she'd try to do that. He rejected her influence.

"No," she whimpered.

He was tempted to thank her for letting him out but, honestly, he wasn't that cruel. The lass was just stupid. He had been that too, once upon a time.

He turned around and started running towards the outer wall. It was just there, old, with a few cracks. With a little blood - and he had plenty of that now, even though it had been severely rationed over the last few days - he would get over it in no time.

He didn't see what hit him, but it hit him hard. It was cold and hard, and then Barmond fell to the ground with a grunt. He heard Maggie gasp behind him.

He looked up at his assailant. It had a single eye, a red, glowing dot in the shadow of a helm. There was nothing human about it.

There was nothing human about Anselm.


	10. The Vagabond

Anselm was a gigantic suit of armour, even taller than Hugo, with long limbs like the one of a spider. At least that's what he looked like at first sight. But to Barmond, for whom the scene was as clear as day, it was plain that there was _something_ in that armour. Or, rather, that this wasn't an armour at all, because it was something's skin. Something that huffed, with one red eye that was a gleaming pinprick in the darkness of his helm. His long fingers, tipped with sharp claws, slowly curled into talon-like hooks.

Barmond rolled and got on his feet, luckily before Anselm struck him. He had one idea on his mind: get as much distance between him and his opponent as possible. Anselm crooked his head to the side and watched him scoot away. If Barmond didn't know any better, he would have said that he looked amused. Barmond was not letting him out of his sight; despite the urgency, he was moving backwards.

Several things happened at the same time.

Something met the back of Barmond's leg, stopping it right when he was shifting his balance. He fell back. And as he did so, it seemed like suddenly Anselm was almost in his face. He felt the wind of those claws passing so close to his face, so close he could almost feel how sharp they were. And then he fell on his back under Anselm and his breath was cut short.

The thing perched over him, each of his four limbs on a different tombstone head. Or at least that's all Barmond had the time to see before he rolled to the side. This time, he sacrificed some blood to move faster, just to escape between Anselm's legs and get back up. And then he ran.

He heard a surprised grunt behind him. He didn't stop to look. He was burning through his blood without a care, as long as that got him out of there.

Anselm was _faster_.

Barmond realized that through pain, the pain of having his abdomen pierced from the back. Anselm had torn near his spine - might have been aiming for that - through his gut and out the other side. Barmond looked down and saw four talons poking out of his clothes. His hand. Anselm had slid his _hand_ right through Barmond like it was butter.

Missed the stomach and the heart, though. Did no one know how to kill a vampire in this entire city?

That was the last coherent thought that Barmond had before pain wrecked him. He screamed. And before he could wretch himself off Anselm, the thing _lifted_ him as effortlessly as if he was a rag doll. Off the ground, on his back - Lilith, that _hurt_ like a bitch - until Barmond's head fell back and he was face to face with Anselm's helm.

Up close, Barmond could distinguish what was under. Teeth, scars, purple flesh, but it wasn't a face, it shifted shape when the red dot of his eye moved to watch him through his mouth-hole. Barmond was mute with terror.

Anselm placed his free hand on Barmond's neck, almost delicately. The tiny points of his talons bit into Barmond's sensitive skin without piercing it. He was going to tear his head off. That was it.

"Anselm!" cried Maggie.

The thing turned his head so sharply it was almost instant, just to look at her. Barmond did as well, slower. She looked lovely in the moonlight. It came from behind her and hid at least _some_ of her nudity beneath but the pale veil of the fabric contrasting with the shadow on her skin only made her hourglass shape more apparent. She was still in full succubus form. And smiling.

"You got him," she said. "You did _so_ good, all right? But keep him alive. For me."

No words came out of Anselm's mouth, just a growl. His fingers twitched on Barmond's throat.

"No, no, please don't kill him. He's here by mistake," she said. "Please. I'll be very happy if you gave up your kill, Anselm. Do you hear me? So happy."

Oh, that _certainly_ caught Anselm's interest. He let go of Barmond's throat and lowered the arm holding him up. Barmond slipped off his claws and on the ground with a groan - but he bit his lip just so that he wouldn't scream. He knew better than to bring the attention back to him.

But he did turn his head to see what would happen next. Just in case Anselm might come back to finish him off after all.

Anselm had wings by the way. Bat-like and wide, they unfurled in visible excitement. He was already curling his impossible height over Maggie, his talons on her hips. The other was trying to get on her chest but she kept batting it away.

"Not _now_ , Anselm," she pestered at him.

He signed something with his hands, giving her a short respite. She immediately softened up.

"I know I'm pretty," she replied, "but right now I really need to bring him back to his cell without anyone noticing that he left it."

He seemed to pause at that. Then signed some more.

"I didn't go behind my father' back!"

More hand signals.

"I... I just wanted a little taste, I swear! There are no vampires around here, ever, and Jessica already got her turn." She huffed and half turned away from him, crossing her arms. "But if you don't want to help me, I'll give you nothing."

Anselm's demeanour changed. He crouched, placing his head around her stomach's level, and whimpered. He tried getting close to her too, holding her at the thighs and pressing his helm against her arm. A tongue, long and black, escaped his mouth-hole and curled around her wrist.

Barmond used the fact that that they were both distracted at the moment to heal his wound. He saved some blood by only mending his skin and muscles. Entirely intact guts were a bit of a luxury at the moment.

"I take this as a yes?" she said, chuckling. "All right. You'll get some. Who needs vampires when you have such a nice gargoyle as you, am I right Anselm?"

He nodded. And pushed her down, in the grass, before climbing on her. She cried in protest, but soon enough she was laughing.

"Anselm, you naughty boy!" She did her best to defend herself against his enthusiastic licks. "We need to get him back, I said!"

He signed something with one hand.

"Fast? That's what _you_ want, you meanie."

Time to give them some privacy. Because, of course, the first thing that Barmond had noticed was that he was no longer either of their field of vision. He also didn't want to see them copulate - or whatever they were about to have - in a cemetery. Barmond might be undead, he still had some measure of respect for this place.

He got up on all fours and crawled backwards, getting some tombstones between him and the others.

"Anselm," she cried, "don't tear my dress! It's expensive."

Maybe he shouldn't judge them too severely, Barmond thought as he put more and more distance between them. Barmond knew what it was to be tempted, both by the perspective of feeding and the one of sleeping with a succubus. And, to be honest, there was ground to be envious of Anselm. Maggie was a delicious-looking piece of work.

Behind him was a path. Barmond was far enough that he was willing to risk standing, even if he did so with apprehension. Half crouched, his midsection lancing him with pain, he hurried along the path to a gate. A rusty gate. He went for the wall instead, using the cover of a tree and a spot of blood to climb it.

The other side was a little bare - there was some distance between the houses and the cemetery, a distance that was covered in wild and budding bushes. Barmond hurried along the wall, towards the enceinte.

That is when he spotted it: the stairs leading up to the top of the city walls. His heart soared in his chest. This was so much better than climbing. He jubilated quietly as he made his way to it. And there was still nothing coming after him.

His joy came to a halt when he found himself in front of the door to the stairs: it was locked tight. He shook it, then examined the thin crack between the wood and the wall. This was all oak, metal and stone. He'd have to be an _old_ full-blooded vampire to get through this. Of course, the lock was there to stop senseless kids from running on the city walls and fall in the ditch below, not keep boundless treasures, so Barmond was certain that he could pick it. But that would take time, and he wasn't sure he had that at the moment.

He took a step back and examined the stairs again. They were closed off entirely from the ground to the top level. There was no way to get _in_ the stairway, but Barmond took one look at it all and realized that nothing was stopping him from getting _on_ it. He jumped and his hands gripped the small edge of the roof.

It wasn't that he wanted to let go, but pain exploded in his gut. He fell right back down, clutching his midsection. A normal human wouldn't have felt pain inside of them but Barmond had not been a normal human in a while now, and his body awareness was different. It was a blessing that he didn't bleed, honestly, but he couldn't be climbing around in pieces.

The first lesson he had been taught about healing as a vampire is that you never did that in the open - if you could help it. Barmond's hiding place was already found: he crawled under the stairway.

There was someone under there.

A sleeping human, a vagabond, apparently, that had not budged the entire time Barmond had been doing some door-shaking and climbing. To his credit, Barmond had been rather quiet, even as he snuck up close to him. It was impossible to tell if he was young or old with that bushy beard of his but he didn't seem too skinny. His head was resting on the side, exposing a finger of brown neck.

Barmond, crouched but a step away from him, watched that tiny bit of skin intensely as he mended himself. He could hear the other's heart. Even as he slept like a stone, it pitter-pattered like a butterfly in a jar to keep him alive. Barmond was no such thing, alive that was, and soon he'd need to borrow some of that strength to keep moving.

It was a risk. If he woke up and caught the vampire in the act, this could be the end for him.

Barmond leaned over the vagabond with as much care as a lover. After all, he was going in to steal a kiss, a kiss from a lost soul. A vampire was always in love with the lowest of the low, the ones who fell into their arms when they were the most desperate. His sire would have scoffed at such thoughts, but Barmond knew it to be true, just like he knew the call of the blood and the weight of the sun when it was high above the horizon.

The collar of the man's coat was coarse against Barmond's cheek. It no longer mattered when his fangs sank into warm flesh. His first thought was for Hugo, the man he had last bitten - the man that had used that precious moment, the only solace in Barmond's life, against him. His low-burning anger almost took him out of the moment.

But then it was too good to remain angry. Barmond drank, and rested some of his weight on the other, trying to get a feel of that heart hidden under so many layers. He tasted rich and earthy, full of the strength Barmond so desperately carved. And because he had everything Barmond needed, Barmond loved him.

But he should only take a little, he told himself. Just enough to restore some of what he had lost in the fight against Anselm. It was the thought of the gargoyle that prompted him to let go and to lick the punctures closed, even when he wanted more. He couldn't let himself be distracted as Anselm had been by Maggie's tits.

Even if blood was better than tits, in Barmond's opinion. He hesitated, then changed his mind when he remembered Jessica: some tits could compete with blood. And no, he wasn't biased because she had let him touch them.

The human groaned and moved slightly, and Barmond quickly got off him. The man's sleep was lighter now but he wasn't waking. Barmond watched over him almost tenderly. He knew him now. Barmond, that always tried to distance himself with the people he drank from, couldn't quite bring himself to do so this time.

Even if this was a man. Barmond only loved men under the delusion of the blood, or so he told himself.

And yet Barmond couldn't quite bring himself to do so. Who was he? What was his name? Why was he here, under some stairs, sleeping out in the cold and the dirt? He reached for a strand of his hand, pushing it away from his cheek. He had unusually long lashes for a man. He was beautiful. Barmond wanted to kiss him, and this time not with his teeth. Kiss him and hold him, and maybe bring him somewhere where he was safe, so he would get everything a being so wonderful deserved.

But that was all foolish dreaming.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of large wings tearing through the night sky. This was something huge that had taken to the air and Barmond didn't need to see it to know that Anselm had noticed his departure. He huddled back even further under the stairs, in the shadows.

The human stirred, groaned, and opened his eyes. They landed on Barmond.

The latter quickly rose a finger to his lips, telling him to keep quiet. The human opened his mouth to say something but Anselm landed on the stairs above them right at the same moment.

Both of them froze.

There was a creek of wood, then the distinct pace of something walking on four feet went up to the walls. Barmond could hear some huffing and grunts from the prowling gargoyle, but was unsure of just how much the human could hear. But he certainly heard the frustrated growl above them, a growl that couldn't possibly be coming from a human throat.

The man signed himself. Barmond did too, praying to Lilith, goddess of all the Mislead Children - the undead - that she might spare him for one more night. And spare that human too, that had done nothing. Goddess, that blood was getting to him good. Even as he feared for his own life, he was still worried for another and he couldn't help it.

Anselm took to the air again, his wings tearing through the silence of the night. How could the inhabitants of the city still doubt that supernatural creatures lived among them when _that_ flew over their houses at night?

"What _is_ that?" whispered the man.

"Death," said Barmond. "Silence. He'll find us."

Anselm didn't hear them as he moved away, further and further from them. Barmond estimated that he was beyond the city walls now.

"What is going on?" asked the man. He seemed to be thinking the same.

"Don't you know?" Barmond didn't resist leaning in. The other's scent called to him - not the one of dirt, but the one under, the one of the human. "Strange things happen in this city at night. Dark stuff."

"It's real?"

"You heard it just now."

"Barmond?" That was Maggie in the distance. "Barmond, come back, please. I promise you won't be hurt again, please, you can't go."

The man sent Barmond a look. Barmond shook his head. She too was dangerous, in her own way. The man still leaned down until he could peer over the edge of the stairs. He quickly drew back and crossed himself.

"The devil," he said. "The devil, dressed as a woman."

Maggie must have her wings and tail out, still. She really was unaware, and so was Anselm. Goddess, they both felt so young. They reminded Barmond of the recently turned vampires back at his clan, those that were still discovering their full-blood vampire powers and looked down on him arrogantly, unaware that Barmond could stake them in their sleep any day he wanted.

Anselm came back over the city walls and landed somewhere near her. He must have told her something with his hands, because she started to repeat "oh, Goddess," over and over again.

"You are shaking," said the man.

Barmond was shaking, indeed. They were not that far away; at most, they were standing near the cemetery. They were close enough that they could walk over and find him. All they needed to do was to walk along the walls of the city then turn around to come back and both Barmond and the human would be right there, like two children hiding after having caused a mess. In Barmond's head was the image of Anselm with his hand on his throat, about to tear it out.

The man wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.

Barmond froze at the contact. The man ignored it and tucked him under his chin as he patted his back. He was warm. The sound of his heartbeat was getting to Barmond's head. He gripped a flap of the old, dirty coat.

"God shields us from evil," said the man. "Pray. God will protect our souls."

"They are looking for me."

"Pray."

Barmond didn't. He knew very little of Lilith, this new Goddess that had taken him under her wing when he had escaped all of God's forgiveness. All he could do was invoke her name, and hope that she understood what he was asking for. But he did sink in the vagabond's embrace, accepting it, seeking strength from it. He could take fighting. He could take pain and suffering. But this wait, this all-emcompassing fear where he was at the mercy of one good idea on the part of his two pursuers, that was terrible. He wouldn't have done it.

But someone was holding him. And for some reason he believed that they would make it, that they would be safe, and he was trying to give that assurance to Barmond through his hold. And, while Barmond didn't believe him, he clung to him, as if trying to save himself by holding on the raft that would be saved no matter what.

"I'll get others," said Maggie. "We need to-- We can't let him escape. I'll go, and you keep looking. Please, Anselm. Keep looking."

If Anselm found him, thought Barmond, he would kill him. Barmond had felt his bloodlust, how he was about to _enjoy_ tearing him to pieces. Had it not been for Maggie throwing herself at the beast, he would have died. He didn't know much about gargoyles except that their instincts were powerful, more destructive than the ones of vampires. And, as slow as they might be before getting in motion, once aroused with the promises of violence - or sex - they seldom stopped. Anselm had been denied once-- no, twice tonight, since he was not fucking Maggie into the ground. There would be no third time.

The gargoyle took to the air, again, as Maggie ran back. He rose high, then the sound of his wings were muffled. He was probably flying over the house of the town, low enough that he might see in the streets.

"I must go," said Barmond.

He escaped the other's grip, yet the other clung to his arm, for a moment only.

"I'm Yoven," said the man.

"Barmond."

He was freed. Barmond went around the stairs, clung to the roof once more, then heaved himself on top. He ran up the dingy wooden planks, placed there to protect from the rain and the snow, and on to the ramparts. A glance back and he saw Anselm, like a monstruous bird, flying over the city. Anselm didn't see the silouette going up the stair's roof.

There was the drop, down the other side of the wall and a cliff. Climbing down was suicide with a gargoyle that could fly overhead at any moment. Barmond knew what he had to do.

He jumped over the edge, right into the open arms of the emptiness.


	11. The Escape

Barmond knew he would survive. He didn't know how much pain he would be in at the end of it, but he would be alive. That's all he thought about as he fell, the wind blowing past him and through the holes in his torn clothes.

It turned that it was a whole lot of pain. He heard the cracks, in his leg and back, and knew that they were bad news, but when the pain reached his brain it felt as if his entire body had exploded. He fell face-first in the dirt and screams, but he screamed with his lips closed, face in the wet earth. And, when he could, he stopped himself and rolled on the side.

First his back. His spine had not snapped entirely, but it needed some fixing before he could move anymore. He then turned his attention to his legs, especially his left thigh. He winced. There was a reason his spine had not snapped and he had just found it: his femur had taken the whole shock and had suffered an open fracture, piercing through his clothes. It was not pretty, even when it was bloodless.

But he had to get a move on. He had been told what to do in this situation, luckily, but he would have to focus. First, he mended the skin, pulling it close. He gritted his teeth at the pain, so strongly that he feared that he might crack them, just so that he wouldn't scream. Then he did the same fo his muscles beneath, layer after layer, until all his flesh was healed. He felt his bone slide back in place, slowly, the two ends rubbing. And finally, when it was aligned once more, he used blood to restore it.

He moved his leg, then his right one; found a second minor fracture in the second one and healed that as well. By the time he was standing again, blood was already running thin. It would have been even more desperate should Yovan had not been there.

At least he had fallen on high, wild grass and earth. There were a few more paces to go until the first houses outside the city. After one a glance upwards to check if there was anything in the sky he should be aware of, he hobbled in their direction, seeking refuge among the little houses. Because they were quite small, Barmond realized. This was a halfling neighbourhood.

Smaller than humans but adaptable, halflings went where they were welcome, which was almost everywhere, and lived among them. It wasn't rare to see a community flourish among human cities, just like it wasn't rare to spot the occasional elf or dwarf. They liked living simple lives and family was first and foremost, right before tribe. Barmond had never been terribly interested in them up to this point.

But now he was hungry. And suddenly he was really, really interested to know if they locked their door at night or kept their beggars on the streets like humans.

Although they were outside the city walls, they had built sturdy, vividly painted house with solid colourful doors. He wanted around the houses, keeping to the shadows whenever he could. Every little house had a vegetable garden, but Barmond cared little for cabbages and beetroots. He found a chicken pen but was wise enough not to try his luck with it. He knew how little blood a chicken had and how fast they could fly into a panic.

He checked each door and each window he could find, lightly, tip-toeing his way in the dark. He found what he was looking for after several minutes when he rose his nose to find an open window on the first floor of a yellow house. He could hear a snore coming through the gaping opening. He involuntarily licked his lips.

Jumping and heaving himself up was the easy part. He then found himself in a room, and in that room was a little double bed with two small figures tucked in. Contrary to their name, they were not half a human's size, rather somewhere above that limit. Next to them was a crib, and in that crib a tiny bundle of cloth.

He cared not for babies, too small for sustenance. He hadn't even cared for them while he was alive. He much prefered the vampire way of reproducing: turning an adult into another sort of adult, one that prowled the night instead of the day but that didn't lose one iota of their ability to reason and converse.

He took a sip from each of the parent's necks, smaller than what he would have liked just to be safe, and then moved away from them, through the door. Halflings loved family, that Barmond knew. He found four more couples of various ages sleeping in that house, and two adults that slept alone, and didn't even count the children, sleeping in stacks in dormitories, that he skipped. By the time he was sated, he had learned to love halflings too, their sweet little hands resting so innocently on their pillows, their hairless faces, their pink cheeks, with blood tasting of an abundance of food and tranquillity. They were _adorable_. And Barmond didn't even think that children were adorable.

He didn't take the risk of coming from where he had left. Rather, he left through the kitchen, or at least tried to: he stilled, half-bent to pass through the doorway, when he spotted the largest tabby cat he had been given to spot laying on the window side. It stood and curled its back, hissing at him. The message was clear.

Barmond took the front door, leaving it unlocked behind him. It was too late for burglars to be out and about, or so he hoped for the halflings. It wasn't too late for Anselm to be on the lookout, still.

Barmond looked up at the sky and had a thought for Yoven. He could almost taste his blood, still. And how he had been held in his arms... maybe it was because he had met him for a second during an intense moment, but he knew he'd miss him.

Gosh, what was happening to him? He usually wasn't this sentimental... at least when he was busy saving himself. It was time to move out, and more out swiftly at that.

He was still careful, but it soon became plain that Anselm was no longer in the air. That meant that someone had probably arrived on-site and stopped him from waking up the whole city with the sound of his massive wings. He could imagine Hugo doing it. The man hadn't even flinched in the face of a hungry vampire, he could calm a frustrated gargoyle.

Some people just had it all, thought Barmond. Looks, power, and character. It really wasn't fair. At least he wasn't going to look at his smug face ever again, not if he could help him. 'Kitty kitty?' Barmond was still mad at him for that, and the bloodblissing. And he could stay mad all he wanted because he was _never coming back_. Not if he could help it.

He came to that realisation as he reached the outer reaches of the town and saw the fields stretching beyond the very last houses: he was out. He had actually made it out alive. Now it was about walking away as fast as possible and hopefully reach his sire's home before they reached him, but he was on the other side of the walls and outside of that blasted city.

Laughter erupted in the back of his throat. He curled on himself, holding his own arms close, and chuckled to himself. He had done well.

The return was _miserable_. But at least it wasn't life-or-death miserable as it had been before. With his dirty clothes, without his gloves and hat or a single cent in his pockets, he was mistaken for a vagabond and finding a place to rest during the day was hard. He didn't stop for finding blood, he just walked, and walked, living on what he had taken from the halflings. One time that he was crossing some swamps, he found some leeches that had clung to him - without drawing any blood, since Barmond didn't have any under his skin. He tried chewing on them to see if _they_ still had anything.

Never. Again.

He didn't catch sight of anyone being after him. No gargoyle, no enchanting ladies and no werewolves, surprising as it might be. Either they had lost his trace - which was unlikely, seeing as the had a whole pack of wolves at their disposition and knew his scent - either they had deemed him too unimportant to waste time pursuing. The last possibility was sort of insulting, to be honest, but Barmond forgave the affront graciously. He had enough trouble finding a place to sleep during the day where he wouldn't be disturbed by light or people, something that proved to be particularly difficult.

It took him three nights to make his way back. By the time he reached the city of Schwertzwald, he was almost all drained of everything good in this world, blood, happiness and will. But he made it, and the guards at the gate recognized him - by face but not by name - when he presented himself early in the morning. If they had not, he would have demanded a message to be sent to his sire. No one in Schwertzwald was crazy enough to mingle with the affairs of Otto Von Schwertzwald, and they probably had made note of Barmond's face as the latter's envoy.

The city of Schwertzwald was certainly not as big as Gardel, or even half as imposing. Its ramparts were made of wood and stone and it was perched on a rock over the meeting point of two valleys and two rivers - the perfect place for commerce. Give or take a few generations and it would become a larger, prosperous city, especially if the line of Von Schwertwald kept working as effectively as they did to lead it.

From the outside, everything looked normal among the Schwertwald, except for the family tradition that wanted every heir of the line to take on the name of Otto. But Barmond knew it to be otherwise. The face that appeared at official occasions was not Otto, or at least not the _true_ Otto: that one much rather liked to rule from the shadows, telling his human puppets how to behave. He's been keeping this charade up for the last hundred and twenty years and had no intention of relinquishing the iron grip he had on _his_ city. Such was his power and influence that he could shelter a whole clan of vampires under his dark wings, even if they didn't all live in Schwertzwald. That clan included Barmond, of course, even if everyone other member prefered to ignore that fact.

He walked swiftly up the steep streets. He had done the journey many times by foot and could do it without taking a single break on his way up. Up there at the castle, he would find the shelter her craved and, even higher, against the dark line of the mountains, he could see the glimpses of the upcoming day. It was going to be bright and clear, probably cloudless - everything a vampire hated, half-blood or not.

Once again, he was let in at the gates without too many questions, and he entered the main courtyard of the castle. But he didn't go to the main door. Rather, he went for a servant's side door, knowing that it would be unlocked. All the windows were dark except for one, where a candle burned; this was where he needed to go.

The woman waiting there was there in case anything like this happened. Not important enough to know the secret of Otto, but important enough that she might be able to join someone that did. And she knew Barmond's face, of course. Able to walk among them during the day, he was one of the house's most prized servants, receiving his orders directly from the lord Von Schwertzwald - both the fake and the real one.

She stood up when she recognized him, but did a triple take. One for his presence, that was probably unexpected, one for his clothes, and then finally one to check his mood. It was distinctly sour. She knew better than to linger when he looked like that.

"I'll get Uberth," she said.

"Please," said Barmond.

She disappeared through a door and Barmond was left alone for a while. He dropped to the chair she had been waiting on and examined her work. She had been reprising some underwears before he came. He inspected her work and found it to be barely acceptable, probably because she had been up all night. He hoped those were not for his sire, or Otto would be extremely displeased.

She came back sometime later, with Uberth. The latter was a man in his fifties, dressed well while remaining within what was proper for a servant. His brows rose when he saw Barmond's state. He was Otto's human butler and, as such, they were of the same rank. And while they didn't necessarily like each other, they also knew how to be frank with each other.

"You look terrible," he said.

"Trust me, I've been through worse than I look," said Barmond. "I must report to Otto."

"He was not expecting you."

Uberth gestured for him to come after him, so that the woman might not hear too much. She took her place once more at the window, to continue her mundane work in her mundane world, unaware of the fantastical that moved so close to her. Barmond passed her on his way out and followed Uberth.

"He is about to go to sleep, so you need to report to him immediately," said Uberth once they were alone.

"I was hoping that I could change, at least..."

"No time for that. Besides, you'd soil clean clothes."

Barmond grunted. The last thing he wanted was to show up in such a state in front of his sire. Their link was such that there always was a part of him, no matter how small, that wanted Otto to have a good impression of him, as if Barmond was in fact in love with him. Not that Barmond was such a thing, of course, that would be preposterous, but they were linked by blood. For vampires, that was everything.

"How is he?" asked Barmond.

"You mean, how happy is he?" Uberth shook his head. "Not in a good mood. He has been receiving letters, Barmond, about you. He will not be pleased."

"What sort of letters?"

"He will tell."

Barmond couldn't figure out what sort of letters Otto could be receiving, not for the life of him. Who was that mysterious correspondent, that knew enough about him to make his sire mad? Barmond belonged and served this house. He had done so for twenty years, and this was the home that had made him into the vampire he was. For all it was worth, he belonged here.

They arrived in front of Otto Von Schwertzwald's drawing-room, named so because this was where he received guest and where he liked to draw his victim's blood. One better know where they stood before entering it.

"My lord?" said Uberth, knocking twice on the door.

"Come in," said a voice within. It wasn't Otto's but Barmond knew it well. Her name was Grein.

Uberth stepped inside, leaving Barmond behind. The door was thick and slightly enchanted so that no voice couldn't come through - none that weren't meant to go through, at least. Barmond fiddled with the earth under his nails, trying to scrape it off.

Grein was the first to come out. She took one look at Barmond and broke into a long wheeze, struggling not to burst in laughter. Barmond sent her a dirty look while she was folded in half.

She had not been pretty while she lived, but becoming a full-blooded vampire had elevated her plain features to something more mystical. She still wouldn't be necessarily be called pretty, but her presence imposed itself on others naturally. Some even called her charming. Not Barmond. But again, Barmond was biased when it came to her. Otto presented her as his "only child" to people that didn't know about Barmond's existence.

"Oh, Barmond, you look terrible," she said, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. "You're so stupid."

"Nice to see you too," he said to her as plainly as possible. "I missed you."

He usually avoided sarcasm with her because she tended to be susceptible, but at the moment he was at the very end of his patience. He would take her revenge for his insolence later if he had to. At least she would torment him for a reason if she retaliated then.

"You're so..." She wheezed some more. "Oh, Goddess, you have no idea."

"Is it about the letters?"

"The letters?" She seemed surprised he mentioned them. "Oh, did Uberth tell you? Yeah, it's about them, but I wouldn't tell Otto you know if I were you. He might think you did it on purpose."

"Did what?"

She smiled and didn't answer. He hated her for it because she knew how much that frustrated him.

"Barmond?" said Uberth as he opened the door. "Lord Von Schwertzwald will see you now."

Barmond didn't answer. He just nodded and passed the door Uberth was holding for him, into the drawing-room. There was his sire, waiting for him in his armchair near the fire. The smallest of frowns were on his brow. Barmond felt the very last of his blood freeze in quiet terror.

The door closed behind him with a click, leaving them alone with one another.


	12. The Sire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Schertzwald is, indeed, inspired by a certain Black Forest. (In more... phallic. It translates to Sword-Wood in English, or Woods of the Sword, for those that don't want to open [deepl.](https://www.deepl.com/en/translator)) 
> 
> If you squint and look at family names, you could probably tell that a lot of the characters are referencing different European medieval cultures, even if the resemblance stops there. I'll say it frankly: it's more about the aesthetic than the historical accuracy. Sorry history nerds. I love you dearly and you tell some of the best stories, but I'm not one of your clan.

Otto Von Schwertzwald was a man straight out of a time where lords had been the leader of the warriors defending their home turf first and foremost. He wore nothing but the finest of clothes, but they were stretched over his wide frame, struggling to conceal his raw power. His long black hair was tied back and his black beard was abundant but trimmed carefully. His knuckles were scared from an old brawl he had had when he was still human, over a hundred years ago. No matter where he stood in a room, looks were drawn to him, to his imposing and quiet presence, yet rarely did his face betrayed anything of what he truly thought.

And when it did, it was never a good sign.

"You look terrible, Barmond," he said. "What are all those holes in your shirt?"

Barmond looked down at himself. There were indeed quite a few holes in his shirt. He had not changed since he had first fled his inn room at the inn, back in Gardel. That was... a while ago.

"Well, that one was a bolt," he said, pointing to the hole above his heart. "Given to me by a stalker, I think. And those... one, two, three... four, right there, were fingers." He turned around. He easily found the hole he was looking for, seeing as it was huge. "And that's where the rest of the hand went. That was not the most agreeable. Oh, and there must be another--"

"Enough."

Barmond shut his trap. He knew he had been rambling but he couldn't help it. Anything to try and gain time; he had already given up on sympathy.

Otto leaned forward and crossed his massive hands to support his chin. His eyes closed briefly.

"I guess that all those _trophies_ were collected during your escape?"

"Not all... The bolts were for capturing me."

"I see."

Otto closed his eyes. Barmond shifted from one foot to the other. He knew that he had deceived his sire, if Ottos had had any faith in him at all. A true vampire, one that was deserving of him, would have aced this escape, not stumble collecting holes. What was he saying? A true vampire would have never been caught in the first place. They would have vaporised completely at the first sign of danger. Or, at least, Grein would have done it that way.

"Is that all you have to say?" asked Otto. His eyes were open again, gleaming like beads under his strong brow.

"They have a gargoyle. It's guarding the northern cemetery. Nasty, but very inexperienced from what I could tell."

"And why would I care about that?"

"I mean-- I didn't include that in the reports."

"The reports! Let's talk about those ineptitudes you sent me."

"Pardon?" said Barmond in a small voice.

"Plans of the town? Evaluations of the number of troupes they might have at their disposal? Theories on their hideouts What was that about, Barmond? Did you think that we have the means of planning an attack on them?"

"I thought..."

"You think! And yet, it was not enough!"

Barmond was stunned. He thought that he had gotten that right, at least, and there was his sire telling him that it wasn't the case. Had he been so wrong from the start?

"Pah!" cried Otto.

He stood up and Barmond took a step back, instinctively, but he was only going to stand in front of the fireplace. All that was left was a few embers, but the heat it diffused was sufficient.

"You didn't say... that this wasn't what you expected from me," said Barmond.

"Because I tolerated it! I tolerated it all until you went and you messed it all beyond repair. And now you are here."

"I'm sorry." Pause. Barmond didn't want to speak any more than he already had, feeling that the air was already electric with the threat of a storm, but he had to mention it. "It seems that we have underestimated the lieutenant of Ranphoros. He seems to know a considerable amount about vampires. I have a theory that he might be a former vampire hunter."

That got a reaction out of Otto, albeit a strange. He turned around completely to face Barmond. With him looking at his vampire child, the shadows in the room felt even darker, but he didn't say a thing for a full three seconds.

"His lieutenant?"

"Hugo. I might have mentioned him in my reports..."

"Hugo Rocher."

Something in Otto's voice was strange. Barmond couldn't put a finger on what it was, probably because he had never seen his sire like that, but it was there.

"What makes you think that Hugo might know vampires well?" asked Otto.

Barmond thought about the interrogation. Hesitated. But he owed it to his sire to make a full report, and that was the best example he had.

"There was a time, when I was detained by them, where Hugo himself... He called it bloodblissing? What he did--"

"He did _what_?"

Otto blew up. His face erupted in anger and he raised his fist as if to hit Barmond. The latter cowered, protecting his head first, knowing how hard the blows of his sire could be firsthand. But it never came. The flash of pure rage, the gleaning eyes, the bared fangs, all that vanished with a great sigh. He lowered his arm.

"This is not to happen again," said Otto. "You hear me, Barmond? It's disgraceful."

Barmond nodded.

Otto went back to sit in his chair. "I assume this is how they got my name?"

"It was." Suddenly Barmond had a flash of understanding. "Have you received news from them, sir?"

"Indeed. News of your capture, and Ranphoros' displeasure that I would spy on them." Otto paused. "And a proposition. That I had to accept, lest Ranphoros would leave you in the sun."

Barmond would have paled if he had any blood to draw away from his face. No wonder Otto was mad. Barmond had caused him trouble.

"You are lucky that it was one that served my interest. I was of a mind to abandon you, and I hesitated. But I've turned so because you were useful to me."

"I... That's understandable, sir." It wasn't, but Barmond knew what to say to his sire by now. "If I may, what sort of proposition did you accept?"

Otto narrowed his eyes. "That you would remain in Gardel, serving Ranphoros."

"Pardon?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Sir, are you certain that this is what he has told you?"

"Yes. And yet, you are here." Pause. "Where you shouldn't be."

"Oh."

" _Indeed_. I have not told anyone about the letter I received last evening, _demanding_ that I send you back in the briefest of delays when you did make your way home. Ranphorose has become as careless with his words as he has with the security of his cells, it seems. As for you, you are lucky that you have come back before I personally set out to search for you."

Barmond was speechless. He still wasn't over the news. Ranphoros wanted him to work for him? Why?

"You will be leaving tomorrow night, I have already given Uberth orders to see that you are out of my sight before I rise. Rest while you can."

"What does he want from me?" asked Barmond. "What did he say?"

"Nothing but _insolences_ and thinly veiled insults. That since I was so _eager_ to be informed of what was going on between the walls of Gardel, that I should have an envoy, provided that he is also useful. It seems that you have also demonstrated an unusual amount of self-control regarding your thirst, something about being lucid until you pathetically landed face-first at the feet of Rocher from blood exhaustion. What do I know of what Ranphoros wants? He is nothing to me, and I dislike him even more after our correspondence. He shall tell you what he wants himself."

"And... how about you, sir?"

"Me?"

"How can I be of service to you? By going back to Gardel, that is."

"Are you mocking me?"

"I would never--"

"Write to me about what is happening there. Everything worth mentioning, I want to know. And none of that... hunter nonsense you're sent me. If I read one more time about patrol time tables I promise you that I will fly to Gadrel personally and make you eat that report of yours."

Barmond should have answered that, yes sir, he understood. That was how it went in the script that ensures his best chances of survival. But he didn't say that, probably because he was still shocked that he was going back.

"But what _do_ you want me to tell you about?" he asked.

When Otto really hit Barmond, he never saw it coming. A vampire of Otto's age was that fast. All he felt was the blow to his cheek, and it was only when he was already falling. He landed heavily on his side, having barely had the time to cushion his fall with his arms.

"Get out of my sight, Barmond," said Otto. He was standing over him. "I am done with you."

Barmond nodded wordlessly and crawled away quickly. He knew better than to stick around, even if he had received no answer to his question. A moment later he was at the door, and he didn't even say goodbye.

All in all, Barmond live in relative comfort when stayed at Schwertzwald, castle. He had the servants at his orders, day and night, and Uberth, that managed who lost how much blood, brought some of them to feed him. Barmond was also free to roam the castle, both the human, official part of it and the vampire one, granted that he didn't infringe on said vampire's privacy. Considering how much he liked the other vampires of his clan, that was an easy rule to remember.

First among them was Grein. Barmond relationship and feelings towards here were complicated: jealousy, dislike, judgment, yet he recognized, deep down, that she had some qualities. She, on the other hand, had it considerably simpler: she looked down on him - or at least that was all he got from her.

As for the others, it varied, mostly depending on their age. Older vampires tended to ignore him. They knew that sometimes certain compromises had to be made for the sake of living a long unlife and they saw Barmond as one such compromises. Barmond disliked being treated as no better than furniture, but at least it was better than mocking tones given to him by the younger vampires. To think that their leader, the feared Otto Von Schwertzwald, would have such a child as a lowly half-blood seemed to be an endless source of entertainment. All to often did they forget how easily Barmond could kill them when they laid dead in their coffins and he was awake, but reminding them of it would have been in poor taste - according to no one but Otto, that had made sure to remind Barmond of that.

Barmond's own quarters, however, were above ground. He was part of the official, 'human' face of the clan, at least in the eyes of the servants. He retreated to them, and was pleased to see that Uberth had had a bath and new clothes prepared for him. A little later, after the sunrise, he sent in servants 'for his service', one by one, and Barmond took his share of blood from each of them, until he sent one back to Uberth without having touched her because he was full.

Once he was scrubbed clean and fed, he went to bed, pulling the heavy black curtains around his four poster bed. Crawling between actual sheets felt divine. Closing his eyes knowing that he could rest until the evening was divine. He chose to worry about what the futur held in store for him later, even if his last thought before he went to bed was about how he was going to have to deal with Hugo again.

He wasn't sure he liked that. The bloodblissing betrayal was still fresh in his mind, but at least maybe he would find some closure.


	13. The Pack

A knock against the wooden panel under the driver's seat was what awoke Barmond. After all, that was the signal he had agreed upon with his human companion in case anything was wrong with the road.

Barmond already knew that they were at the gates of Gadrel once more. It was late afternoon and he was supposed to have been sleeping, but really he was too tense to even relax. Despite the weight of the sun on his shoulders, he kept peeking through the carriage's curtains and nervously fidgeting.

They had been on the road for the last two days now, having left the night after his return to Schertzwald. Pit stops had been taken on the way, both to rest the horses and feed the vampire, but they had made their way with hast. No one kept one of the most eminent supernatural lords of the west coast of the continent waiting, especially when the said lord was not known for his patience.

"My lord?" said the lackey that had been driving Barmond. "The guards wish to speak with you."

Barmond opened the door of the carriage. The last ray of light of the day snuck into the dark cabin, but he remained in the shadows, standing and leaning forward under the low ceiling. Two guards stood just outside. The moment they saw his face, pale in the shadows with its piercing blue eyes, they took off the hats of their uniform.

"Erm, sir," said one - not a captain, but probably the leader of the duo. "We hope it's not too much trouble. We've just got to ask you a few questions. If you don't mind. Sir. Like, erm, what you're doing in town."

"I'm on business and looking for the Smidsegilde," said Barmond, citing the name of a smithing guild in the city. Not the most prominent one, obviously, but they also dealt with the traffic of iron and other ores - or so Barmond had gathered. "My master, lord Von Schwertzwald, wishes to purchase."

"Oh, we weren't asking that much detail..." said the guard. "We can send someone with you to show you the way, too, if you wish, my lord..."

"I'm no lord."

He put on his new gloves, then his new hat. This time, he did look a lot better than last time, all in black with a more modern cut to his clothes. All of his skin was in the shadows when he stepped out of the carriage with his head lowered. The guards stepped aside to let him pass.

"Henry," he said to his driver, "this is here that we part. Here, find yourself a good place to say for tonight, and don't drink too much." He tossed a silver coin at him.

"Thank you, sir."

The guards exchanged a look. It wasn't common for a merchant to dismiss their servant at the door and enter the town on foot, but this was what Barmond did. From that point onward, he was alone in lord Ranphoros' domain, and under his protection. If any of his agents were already watching him, they would understand that he did that to show his willingness. He needed the good rep, after the show he had put on during his escape.

"A good evening to you," said Barmond with a slight bow of his head in the direction of the guards.

They got the hint and returned to their duties.

Gadrel was cleaning up and putting away its tools after a long day of work; Barmond quickly found his spot in the crowd of people walking home or away from it for some good time. He knew the place where he should be next and that is where he was heading, even if he did so with obvious hesitation.

At least _Howling and Drinks_ was a little classier than what _The Fishy Monster_ had been, even if his clothes still made him stand out like a sore thumb. Granted, for that to happen, someone would have had to be watching him, and right now that wasn't the case. The many artisans and sailors that frequented the places were busy with their cups and company. But the company Barmond was looking for had yet to arrive.

He sat down at their table, that was left empty in a corner.

"What can I get for you, sweetie?" said the waitress. Small, busty, robust and chubby - if that didn't scream 'my dad married a halfling woman', Barmond didn't know what did. He liked her immediately.

"Just some ale," he said.

"All right, sweetie."

She looked young, but the way she treated him and her confidence were as if she was much older. Barmond wondered if she was just gifted with a good face.

"Hmmm, by the way," she added, having hesitated at the edge of his table for a moment. "You might want to move. Some mercenaries like to come and drink here, and that's their table. They're kinda rowdy, sweetie."

"I know."

"Hmm, if you say that you do, then I guess I can't say anything. It's not like they reserved the place." She wiped down the table in front of him with a rag once, quickly, and went back to the bar with a little trot.

Barmond took out his gloves and spent the time by smoothening them to perfection. They were brand new, and he hoped that he would be able to keep them for a while. His hat was already sitting on the backrest of his chair, waiting for him to leave.

He couldn't wait to leave this place. It was full of humans - and some elves, especially among the artisans - loud and undignified. He could see why werewolves of all people would like this place. He didn't look forward to meeting them again, but at least he was certain that they wouldn't react to dramatically when there were so many eyes watching. For this reason alone, _Howling and Drinks_ became a better place to be than any dark alleyway in the city, no matter how much he longed to go back and hide in the shadows. That was where he worked best.

The waitress brought him his ale.

"You know them?" she asked with no other preamble. She examined him a second time and, without giving him any time to reply, added, "wait, maybe you want to employ them, right? I'm afraid that they are already super busy with work, but you can already try."

"Actually," said Barmond, "I'm part of their contract."

"Oh, like an escort mission?"

"Something like that."

"That's really mysterious. Now I'm kind of curious about you." She tucked her tray under her arm and leaned over the table. "A whole mercenary troupe just to protect you? Are you some sort of noble in disguise?"

Barmond didn't laugh often. He didn't often have something to laugh about. But when she asked this question, a weary smile stretched his lips.

"No. I am not. But you are not the first to assume that."

"What? But you behave like one, a little off-standish and such. And you hold your hands like one, and look around like one. You even speak like one, a little."

"Is it that noticeable?"

"So, you're really a noble?"

"I'm not!"

She chuckled. Barmond sighed. She was a stranger to him, and yet there she was, teasing him as if they were good friends. That wouldn't do.

With their back and forth, he almost didn't notice when the werewolves came in, even if it would have been hard to miss such a thing.

They came in by slamming the door open, or at least the first one did so. That brought some attention to her, but by then the place was busy enough that most of the other patrons didn't bat an eye. Unless they were used to it, which was also a possibility.

"Marieke!" she cried.

(Barmond made a face when he recognized her: she was the werewolf that had gifted him with a bolt in the liver.)

"Patricia!" cried the half-halfling back. Hands-on her hips, she was obviously playing her part in a game they had played a hundred times. "What do you want?"

"Drinks! Drinks for everyone!"

Patricia was well on her way to cross the entire tavern without a care in the world, walking as she was. She didn't notice that the rest of her pack had come to a halt after having just passed the door. Their eyes were collectively fixed on Barmond sitting at their table. So far, no Hugo.

Barmond took a sip of his ale. Who was scared of the big bad wolf? Not him.

Patricia was the last one to spot him, and she stopped in her tracks the second she did. Marieke, that had been about to make her way back to the bar, noticed and also looked back at Barmond, then back at Patricia. There was a puzzled look on her face.

The one that made the situation move again was Hugo, that chose that moment to appear in the back of his pack. It was as if they sensed that he was there without looking at him - they probably did, for all Barmond knew - because they parted to let him pass. He caught sight of Barmond right away, yet he wasn't the least phased. He simply walked to the table where he sat, patting Patricia on the shoulder as he passed her. There was a small smile on his face. Barmond couldn't quite tell if it was happy or smug.

He stopped at the edge of the table, hands on his hips. He dwarfed Barmond. Not only was her too tall for his own good, but he was also entirely made of muscles. Barmond took back what he had thought earlier about the big bad wolf: he was a little intimidated.

Luckily, he could hide that by drinking from his cup of ale.

"Fancy meeting you here," said Hugo.

Barmond didn't know what he was supposed to answer to that, or even if he should answer at all. Hugo seemed to sense that because he simply pulled a chair and sat down.

It was as if a spell had been broken. The other werewolves approached cautiously, like pups scoping out a strange new animal, and took their usual spots. One of them had to pull an empty chair from another table.

"The usual," said Hugo to Marieke.

She nodded, having watched the entire scene unfold, and moved towards the bar for good this time. And now, Barmond was left alone among the wolves.

The feeling was... awkward, to say the least. No one around the table dared to say a word, as if they were scared that Barmond was going to pounce on them and bite off their noses if they did. In reality, Barmond was certain that any single one of them would tear him to shreds in single combat, but he also knew that fear could make an empire kneel. As long as he looked confident enough and kept his calm demeanour - something he was quite good at - he could enjoy their disquieted looks.

"Enjoying yourself?" asked Hugo.

"Quite," said Barmond. "That ale is of excellent quality."

Hugo found that funny and chuckled. Around the table, the ambience relaxed by a notch.

"So, you know where to find us," said Hugo.

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"A while. You are not exactly discreet."

"I think I would have remembered a face like yours," said Hugo.

Whatever that meant, Barmond tried not to ignore it. He didn't know that werewolves dealt in thinly veiled insults as vampires did.

"I never approached any of you," said Barmond. "You never saw me until you found me, didn't you?"

"No, I have not."

Hugo rested his head on his chin. He wasn't taking his eyes off Barmond, not even for a second. Maybe he was also scared that Barmond might hurt anyone from his pack if he looked away. Being fixed like that was a little unsettling, Barmond had to admit. He found himself leaning away from Hugo ever-so-slightly.

"So, how did you know that you would find us here?" said Hugo.

"Who said I knew that you would come here? This is all a coincidence."

"Hmm." Hugo considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "You don't look like the type that deals in coincidences. I've seen the way you write a report. I just want to know if you followed us without us noticing."

"Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

Barmond was starting to remember why he disliked Hugo. That knowing half-smile of him was unpleasant to look at, and he had yet to look away. Instead of leaning away, Barmond was now leaning in towards him, responding to the challenge. No more would Hugo toy with him as he had done last time. Just because he could didn't mean that Barmond wouldn't put up a fight.

"Fair," Hugo answered. "You're a little magician. Keep your secrets if you want. I like the challenge."

"Or you could drop the matter."

"Never."

Barmond narrowed his eyes. Hugo's smile widened. Was he getting a kick from getting under a vampire's skin? What a brute.

From the corner of his eye, Barmond could see the other members of the pack exchange looks in silence, either in puzzlement or amusement. They were probably quietly rooting for their leaders. Those weren't wolves, thought Barmond, just sheep.

"Enough with this," he said. He drank the rest of his ale in one go. "I don't have all night."

"And my drink?"

"One shouldn't drink while on duty," said Barmond.

"As far as I can see, you did just that."

"I can't get drunk." Because he was a vampire. That he didn't say, not when there were humans that could hear them, but Hugo seemed to understand.

"You're so cruel," said Hugo. "Ah, oh well. I supposed you're right. Pat, you are not allowed to have my drink."

"What did I do?" said Patricia.

"You know why. Everyone, behave. I'll try to join you later."

There was a collective goodbye from all around the table, addressed of course solely at Hugo. Not that Barmond was expecting any less from werewolves. Consider anyone beyond their little pack was a lot to ask of them.

Barmond left the price of his drink on the table. He hoped it wouldn't be snatched up before it reached Marieke, he had left her a tip.

The street was a lot cooler now that the sun had set, and certainly more relaxing than what the noisy inn interior had been. Barmond breathed in deeply to take in the night's air. Hugo smelled a little more sweaty than usual - had he had a long day? Was that a wound he smelled on him? Unless his clothes were stained with the blood of an enemy.

"Now I'm curious about what you know about me," said Hugo.

"Not more than what I need to know," said Barmond. "That you're the leader of your pack and probably the eldest of your kind in the city. That your favourite places to spend your evenings is _Howling and Drinks_ , but that you go to the _Lady in Green_ on Tuesday because of their cheaper drinks - as most of the locals do. That the guards of the city sometimes work with you when dealing with _tricky_ situations."

"Tricky situations?" Hugo leaned towards Barmond. "That's how you call instances of suspected supernatural occurrences?"

"I call them like that when I unsure whether or not someone can hear me."

"No one here."

Indeed, the street that they were scaling was empty. But it was a matter of principle for Barmond. Sometimes, principles were what kept one alive... or, in his case, undead.

"Anything else you know?" asked Hugo.

"Nothing that I would tell you."

"You're aware that we're going to be working partners soon, right?"

Barmond stopped in his tracks then turned to Hugo. He took him in, once more, and Hugo did the same. There was a half-puzzled, half-amused smile on his face. What was so damn funny about Barmond that he smiled all the time?

"If lord Ranphoros makes us work together, then he is a lot more short-sighed than I thought that he would be," said Barmond. "With all due respect, we wouldn't work well together."

"Oh?" He chuckled. "And how come? You claim you don't know much about me, yet you know that?"

"Well, for one, I don't like you."

This time, Hugo laughed. This didn't amuse Barmond. He crossed his arms and waited that the other was done.

"You don't like me, little Barmond?"

"Your personality is extremely unappealing to me."

" _Extremely unappealing?_ "

"I said what I said."

"Huh. Well, I'll let you know that it's not reciprocated. I think you're very amusing."

Barmond narrowed his eyes at Hugo, but didn't comment. Amusing? As in, easy to mock? Well, he supposed that someone like Hugo might think like that. What did he care? He had already made an opinion of Hugo and so far he had not seen anything that would change it.

"I better get you to lord Ranphoros before you try to drill a hole through me with that glare," said Hugo. "And we'll see what he has to say about us working together."

"Yes," agreed Barmond. "Let us hurry."


	14. The Lord

They hurried, indeed, to the cathedral's plaza. There was light in just one shop, one that Barmond had already noticed: _Themel's Fruit and Vegetables_. The front of the store was covered in a white cloth and whoever was inside moved across that canvas like Chinese theatre shadows.

Hugo knocked twice and just entered, not waiting for an answer. Barmond followed suit.

"Oh, Hugo," said the owner, a wood elf - the titular Themel, Barmond guessed. "Oh, business? Got time for a drink?"

Themel was a wood elf, that much was obvious when seen from close. Tan-skinned, fair hair, long delicate ears and slit eyes, it was all there. There was a second person there too, a (seemingly) human woman. She was extremely attractive, with a dark head of hair and lashes for miles, and the straps of her dress seemed to have neglectfully slipped over the side of her shoulder. She smiled at Hugo and gave him a long blink, very much like a cat saluting the human it deigned share its territory with, but ignored Barmond.

It wasn't as if he was interested in a _succubus_ ' attention anyway, inwardly scoffed the forgotten vampire.

"No, but thank you for the invitation," said Hugo. "I'll leave you two to your fun."

"You wouldn't be intruding," said the woman.

"Maybe another time, Rosa," said Hugo.

He stepped towards the back of the shop, but Barmond didn't follow. He was looking at Themel. The latter looked back, his slit pupils thinning after he had caught sight of Hugo. He tilted his head.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

Should he tell him? Oh, and what the heck. They were supposedly on the same side. (And maybe, he did want to both flex his abilities and shock the owner.)

"You should close your washroom window when you are in your shop," said Barmond. "Especially if you're not going to check on what is happening upstairs."

Themel paused, then frowned. "But it's a small window... Wait-- How do you know?"

Barmond flashed him a tight smile, the type of smile that didn't reach his eyes. He moved towards Hugo, that was also watching him with a smile - a wider one than his own. The moment Barmond had his back turned to the elf, he became serious once more.

Hugo led him through the back, and then to the cellar. Except that this cellar wasn't used to store food, but a passage. They went through the door in the back.

"So, you've been spying on Themel too?" asked Hugo.

"Maybe."

"Does this have anything to do with that rope that was in your cabinet back at your room?"

Barmond didn't answer that question.

"If Ranphoros ask, will you answer that question?"

" _If_ he asks. I shall see then."

Hugo chuckled.

"I really don't see what's so funny," said Barmond.

"You're funny."

"I'm not."

"You are. You're quite spunky."

"Ah, yes. You did say that you liked challenges. Yet another reason for lord Ranphoros to not let us work together."

"Maybe you're right. He can't afford to have me too distracted."

"Precisely. Or you could leave me alone, unless you lack the self-control for that."

Hugo laughed.

"Hmpf," said Barmond, a little offended. "I should have known. You can't expect more from a werewolf."

"Ow, that way low, little Barmond."

Barmond chose not to answer. Hugo didn't nag him again until they had walked low under the earth, along clean-cut tunnels, following the light of the occasional torch. Their fire burned white, betraying it magical origin and endurance. Tunnels branched out right and left, to mysterious destinations, yet Hugo seemed to be following the largest one each time.

They arrived in front of a large, double door. Paintings of-- Barmond did a double-take, but it was indeed highly erotic paintings on it, clearly visible in the trembling blue light of a nearby torch. He diverted his eyes, choosing to focus instead on Hugo. Not that he was a prude, rather that he was shocked that such things could be displayed so openly.

"Ranphoros' audience chamber," said Hugo, "although I don't think he's in there. Stay here. If you moved, I'll know."

"Just leave already."

Hugo walked away, down a different tunnel than the one they had taken to come. Barmond watched him leave, then listened to the progression of his steps through the bowels of the earth.

The moment he was certain that Hugo was out of earshot, he was muttered a quick few words in a strange language and bit his tongue. The taste of blood filled his mouth, for a very brief instant, and then if vaporized with a spark. He winced at the pain. His lips now felt numb.

He kneeled in front of the door. There was a painting of a woman with her legs spread around the keyhole. A muscle twitched in his cheek. He was just trying to cast a spell, why did those stupid paintings made him feel as if he was doing something dirty?

He blew through the keyhole anyway. The magic slipped through it and in the room beyond. He glued his ear to the opening and, soon enough, it whispered to him in the same language he had spoken earlier.

A room of modest size. A door on the opposite side. A fireplace? This low under the earth? And some soft furniture, probably a sofa or a padded bench. He nodded as he received every piece of information, then stood up and dusted off his knees to erase all traces of dirt from them. No one had seen him do, no one could know he knew how to do that. Like most of the things he knew how to do, by the way. Vampires weren't supposed to be capable of magic - unless they were a half-blood, like he was. But that wasn't widespread information.

He just had to make sure that it wasn't another cell.

He heard movement on the other side, people entering through what he assumed was the second door of that room. They moved around, speaking in monosyllables and hushed tones - probably knowing that the vampire on the other side of the door could hear everything. One of them was Hugo.

The other must be Ranphoros, lord of Gadrel's underworld.

That's when Barmond started to get nervous again. He wasn't meeting just any incubus. Very much like his sire, this was a man that could do anything they wished to him and, with his powers, this was a whole new set of threats that Barmond could hardly anticipate.

He took a deep breath. As if he had smelled out his fear, Hugo opened the door at that moment.

"The lord will be receiving you," he said in a formal tone - almost out of character for him.

He stepped to the side, letting Barmond move into the room, then closed the door and stood in front of it. Barmond noticed, of course he did, and having the exit blocked in that way didn't help with his growing anguish. Anguish that he hid, to the best of his abilities.

Lord Ranphoros had chosen to present himself from the back first, unless he just wanted to stare into the fire a moment longer. He had a tall frame, and that was all Barmond could know when two raven-coloured wings blocked the view of everything save his long dark hair. His feather-tipped tail twisted on the Persian carpet.

Barmond's eyes darted around the room. Why... why would there be a bed in an audience chamber? Did Ranphoros really greet some of his guests by sleeping with them? Or was it decorum - a reminder of his nature?

Or maybe even a threat.

"Finally, we come face to face, little vampire," said Ranphoros.

He turned around. Like his daughter, he had magenta skin. Unlike his daughter, he wore a lot more clothes, all black like his wings. Unsurprisingly, he was also very attractive, with his wide shoulders, sharp features, and a smile that could make a man's - or a woman's - heart skip a beat. And horns sat on the top of his head, curling outwards, revealing that despite his somewhat youtful face that he had lived a long life already.

"Apologies, that must have sounded quite dramatic, didn't it?" he said. "I got to say, with how few people dare to go against me, I haven't had the occasion to use this line in a while. And you have certainly avoided facing me, haven't you?"

Barmond opened his mouth to answer, even if he didn't quite know what he was about to say. Ranphoros waved his hand to stop him right there.

"There is no need to look at me like that. We are here to talk amicably, and I'll answer all the questions you might have. And, hopefully, I'll get the answers to some of my own questions... right?"

"Of course."

"Excellent! That is what I like to hear. We are going to get along, Rotberg."

He ambled over to the head of the bed and sat down on it, leaning back on his hands, his wings slightly spread so that they would rest comfortably on the sheets as well. The look he sent Barmond would have made a rock blush. Barmond just looked somewhere else. Over the chimney for example-- oh, scratch that, he really didn't want to stare at any more erotic paintings today and they were all around the room.

"Rotberg," said Ranphoros. "As you know, the city of Gardel has not seen a single vampire in a long time, not that I know of at least. And, as you might have noticed, it shows. I must excuse myself for the ease which you have been able to escape my care."

"Excuse yourself?" repeated Barmond, astonished.

"Indeed! That shouldn't have happened. From what I understood of your sire and the means which you used, it must have caused you quite a bit of trouble. You should have never had to deal with some of the most incompetent agents of my nest. That must have given you a quite poor impression of my nest."

"I don't know--" Barmond was very confused. "Well, your daughter is a lovely young lady--"

"Oh, yes, indeed, my daughter. She inherited many of my good looks, and yet you have not bitten her. Is my daughter not good enough for you? Do you think that you are so much better than she is? Or is she not as lovely as you said? Would you _lie_ to me, Rotberg?" Ranphoros leaned forward, a frown on his beautiful face.

"No! I would not. Just like I wouldn't dare bite your daughter-- She's your _daughter_ , lord--"

"And yet! You would bite someone else? A lowly human, a street rat? No!" He stood up to his full height. "Do not answer me. I have the proof. Bring him in!"

Barmond heard movement in the other room, where Ranphoros had come through. He had not been aware that there were others beyond, they must have remained very still - that, or some muffling spell had been cast on the door. It opened wide, and two men appeared carrying the third one by a hand under each shoulder. Barmond gasped.

"Yoven?"

The vagabond was thrown in the middle of the room before he could reply. He fell ungracefully, on the Persian carpet, and he was the most ragged thing in the room. He looked up, at Barmond. There was fear on his face.

"My men found him by following your trace," said Ranphoros. "Hidden under a stairway. A little pale, a little weak, but otherwise in great health. And he knows your name... like you know his. Isn't that interesting?"

That was when Barmond realize that he had fallen in a trap. Not one that he could see, of course, because that one he would have had a chance to escape. And now, by calling out to Yoven, he had condemned both of them. What a fool he was.

Ranphoros spoke on, but Barmond already knew what he was about to say.

"Fool us once, shame on you. Fool us twice... shame on us. Fool us thrice? Shame on _me_. Your sire, in his letters, has complained to me that you are incompetent. 'Take him off my hands, for all I care. The spectacle of his flailing brings shame to my clan,' or so he said. But I am no _imbecile_. You are a fox. And, like a fox, you will always find a way to trick, unless certain precautions are taken to ensure your loyalty. Do I need to go on?"

Barmond looked down, at Yoven, so that he wouldn't glare at the incubus lord. The human was looking at each of them one after the other, and Barmond could tell that he knew he was alone among monsters.

"Rotberg?"

"No, you do not need to go on."

"Good. You are proving to be a lot smarter than what you seem, exactly as I guessed you were. It goes without saying that should you make a mistake or even _think_ of betraying me, your Yoven friend right here will be the one to pay for it."

"I understand."

"Now, now... it's not all bad, Rotberg, no need to look so grim. Since you have certain... _needs,_ I will be leaving Yoven in your quarters for you to enjoy at any time you wish. Do not thank me, it's only natural."

Barmond shuddered. There was something so pervert in the way Ranphoros talked about it that it awakened a wave of disgust in him - and it was legitimate. Barmond was aware of how repulsive taking someone's blood was. He simply could keep it off his mind most of the time. He hated that Raphoros spoke of it like that in front of Yoven, hated to be shone in this light. As hypocritical as it might seem, he didn't want Yoven to see him like that, as a monster.

A single look at Yoven's face told Barmond that it was already too late for that.

"Is there a problem?" Ranphoros chuckled. "Creatures like you are usually overjoyed at the prospect of keeping human cattle. What do you call them... red slaves?"

"Red retainers."

"Ah! That, yes, I forgot." He had not, or so said the smug smile on his face. "And yet, you are still frowning. Is there a problem?"

Barmond breathed in deeply before he would say something he would regret. Ranphoros, as this point, was toying with him, knowing that he had won.

"There is no problem, my lord."

"Ah! But there is, isn't there? Let me see... Would it have anything to do with the fact that your kind can get very attached to their retainers? Surely that wouldn't be a problem - except if you were planning of having him hurt. Maybe that will make you think twice before double-crossing me."

"Why?"

"Why?" That seemed, for a brief second, to take Ranphoros out of his little power trip. "Why... What, Rotberg? Finish your questions."

"Why do you take such measures? I came to you willingly, to serve you as both you and my sire ordered. Why must you go at such length to make sure that I am willing to serve you?" He gestured to Yoven. "This man has done nothing to you, and I... well, what I have done is in the past. Your nest taught me why is it a bad idea to oppose you in your own city, with bolts through my chest. Why?"

"Ha! That's your only question?"

Ranphoros laughed. Barmond found the sound to be detestable.

"Because you're a vampire, Rotberg. A weak one. An incredibly well-behaved one. But a vampire. You might be the most reasonable of them all, I don't care. At the end of the day, the only thing that will hold you back is your dead heart. I want to make this _very clear_. We might come to an understanding, eventually. By Lilith's tits, I wouldn't be opposed to sharing a few drinks with you and trading stories of our youth." He crossed his hands behind his back and tilted his head. "But I don't forget what you are. Just like you will never forget that I am an incubus. Does that answer your question?"

Barmond nodded.

He heard Hugo, somewhere behind him, sigh.

"Is there something you wish to add, Hugo?" Ranphoros snapped.

"No, nothing at all."

"Hmm. Hugo, once this is done, make sure that Barmond does accept this Yoven as his retainer."

"Will do."

"Good. You two," he said, addressing the thugs that had brought Yoven in, "take that human out of my sight. There is still more I wish to discuss with Rotberg, privately."

They picked up Yoven and left as they had come, dragging him behind. Yoven tried to walk out like a man, but he was denied even that when they lifted him off the ground.

Hugo closed the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork of Ranphoros in this chapter by [Sashetha](https://twitter.com/sashetha). 
> 
> Funnily enough, the whole universe started with Ranphoros. Originally, Barmond and Hugo were only side characters to his story. How the tables turn...


	15. The Allegiance

"Well, now that this is done, let's get into what I really wanted to discuss with you," said Ranphoros. "Can I serve you a drink?"

Knowing that he better not refuse, Barmond nodded.

Ranphoros gestured for him to sit down next to a small table, on which there was an unmarked closed bottle alongside a couple of glasses, each with a slice of lemon. Ranphoros sat opposed to him, opened it, and poured each of them a serving. It was gin, according to the smell of juniper berries in the air.

"My favourite. They call it jenever around here. Funnily enough, the one that made the one in this bottle keeps smuggling some to me just to remain in my good graces - he has no idea what I am or even that I love it so much. He's _convinced_ that I am nothing but an eccentric merchant. Not that he is wrong to believe that. It's not too far off what merchants are like."

Barmond nodded and made note of that information. Maybe one day he would have to buy Ranphoros' good favours too. He brought the drink to his lips. Gin was not his favourite drink, he much preferred when it had less alcohol.

"Now, Rotberg. As you might be aware, your sire and I are old acquaintances," said Ranphoros. "Not that we have spoken all that much, recently, but we have known each other for quite a while. In fact, I've known him before founded he that clan of his, when he was still a vampire stumbling accross the world, chasing love and fortune as one might say. Mostly love. There was a time where he was like that."

"I did not know that."

"Not at all? Well, now you know. And I find it most curious that you managed to make him change his mind about making a vampire of his own blood. Last time we spoke face to face, he had sworn to me that he would never make a heir."

"Is that so?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You know it too."

"I do... indeed know that."

"Good! Because I couldn't help but be curious about why he changed his mind. It is not often that he does."

"I am a good negotiator. As for what, exactly, convinced him, you would have to ask him yourself. I am not privy to his every thought."

"You are telling me that you don't have the slightest idea?"

"No! Not at all. I'm only saying that I do not wish to say something that would be nothing but conjectures."

"Ah. Is that so."

Ranphoros leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his drink. There was a small smile on his lips, and that smile was bad news.

"Let me go over the situation how I see it, Rotberg," he said. "Otto, the most stubborn vampires of all, that claimed his position by sheer will, suddenly changes his mind about making vampires for a _nobody_ like you. Not only that, but he makes you his very first child. However, he then goes on to purposefully withdraw blood during the transformation process, making you a _half-blood._ And, from my observations, he was quite happy with handing you over to the enemy like you're some disease-riddled dog."

Barmond gritted his teeth at the description, but it was accurate.

"Surely, you don't mean for me to believe that you convinced him through the power of your pretty words," continued Ranphoros. "And while Otto is very prone to lust, I know for a fact that you are not his type. So, what is it? _How_ did you do it?"

"Well, first off, the half-blood part was certainly not in our initial agreement," said Barmond.

"Oh! So, you mean to tell me that not only did you convince him to make you into a vampire but on top of that a full-blooded one? With all of the powers and abilities of his bloodline? And, if he died... you would have been the direct heir to his entire clan?"

"One might look at it that way. We all know that 'heir' is a simple word for a complicated situation among vampires."

"We do, we do, but that still leaves my question unanswered."

"Some questions are best left unanswered," said Barmond.

Ranphoros chuckled. "That is quite bold of you to say when in the very next room is your Yoven. Perhaps you think that this secret of yours is worth _dying_ for?"

Barmond didn't answer. Ranphoros met his eyes, and he didn't look down.

"Luckily for him," continued Ranphoros, "I won't need to bring him back here and torture him until you spill it. I already know."

Barmond didn't flinch. It would have been too stupid to flinch now, not as long as Ranphoros could be bluffing.

"You still think that I am an idiot, Rotberg?" asked Ranphoros. "I know who you are. A nobody... How convenient. Especially in your former field of work. Let me change my question a bit, to make it a little clearer. How did you convince a _vampire lord_ to turn a vampire _hunter_ like you?"

This time, Barmond really flinched.

"Tell me, Barmond," purred Ranphoros. He reached over the table to stroke the back of the other's hand. Barmond pulled it away. "Your secret is safe with me. Even if it's simply that you discovered Otto's true weakness - I just want to know that he has one, and the rest I can discover for myself."

"It was no weakness," said Barmond.

"Oh?"

Barmond breathed in, deeply. He had told no one else until now, but there was a man in the other room that could get killed if he didn't say.

"I gave him something he wanted. A child for a child. I gave him Lazarev, the heir to Balthazar Christov Germanovich. I didn't want for him to die, I thought that he would ransom him, but-- Otto killed him. Officially, Lazarev vanished without a trace. In other words, I am the reason why Balthazar pulled away from the west in grief and opened the way for Schwertwald's ascention."

Eyes round like saucers, glass suspended mid-way to his lips, Ranphoros was, for the first time since the beginning of the meeting, completely speechless.

"It goes without saying," said Barmond, "that this information could get me killed if it came out." He looked at Ranphoros, then at Hugo. "That is, if Balthazar can catch me, wherever I may be."

He looked at Ranphoros, then at Hugo. Even he looked impressed.

"Surely you jest," said Ranphoros.

"I jest?"

"I should have guessed it." Ranphoros didn't seem to have heard his answer, too absorbed by his own thoughts. "Of course, it makes sense. Why didn't I see it? Balthazar's vampire child disappears. He goes mad and withdraws back to his homeland. And his direct rival, a vampire known for his refusal of making a child, makes one." He paused. "It must have been you being a half-blood that threw me off. Oh, and the fact that I only learned of your existence later, through rumours. And the existence of Grein as well. She is younger than you, correct?"

"Not by much."

"Why did he make her? No, let me guess. Otto is so easy to predict. He didn't want to suffer the shame of having a half-blood as his only heir."

"He never told me why." Barmond shrugged. "I cannot confirm whether or not this is wrong."

"He might have other reasons," said Hugo, "but it does sound like something he would do."

"Indeed. That leaves the question of why you would tell me such crucial information. Aren't you scared that I might double-cross you? Hand you over to Balthazar? He's a powerful ally."

Barmond shrugged. "If you say so."

Ranphoros snorted. He served himself a second glass of jenever.

"I do appreciate your obedience and professionalism, Rotberg," he said. "But right now, you are only avoiding answering my question. Why would you tell me that? Are you unafraid that Balthazar might come after you? Unless it's a lie to hide an even bigger truth."

"Hmm. It is not a lie. My reasons are simple, and you already know them. Balthazar is powerful, indeed, but he's also unpredictable. He's not exactly known for being one that fulfils deals, especially when someone tries to strongarm him into one. Of all the vampire lords, he is the trickiest to deal with. That is why I turned to his enemy rather than him. You are throwing an empty threat at me. You are telling me that you would rather be allied to a snake-like Balthazar than have the man that stole his most precious belonging at your every command?"

"He's right," said Hugo.

"Of course he's right," said Ranphoros. "Now, I want to know what he has to gain from it."

"Yoven doesn't die," Barmond said.

"Ha!" Ranphoros downed his drink in one go, then slammed his glass on the table. "Yoven doesn't die. How _romantic_ of you. You really are a fox. It takes one to know one, Rotberg, or I wouldn't be where I am today. Are you quite sure that there is nothing else?"

"I don't know what else you want me to tell you." And for a second, Barmond believed what he said until it occurred to him that it was a lie. "Unless I am not understanding your question right."

"Maybe you are not. Let me reformulate. This is not just _your_ secret, Rotberg. You have only just arrived in this city, at my service. I know that I have taken the time to clarify how I intend to keep you in line, but you're a little... too eager to tell me. I thought that I would have to work on you a lot more before I would hear a gem like this one. At least a month, maybe two."

"Has it occurred to you that might have been tenderised before landing in your care?"

Ranphoros rose a brow, keeping quiet so that Barmond might continue.

"Otto Von Shwerztwald has tricked me out of three-fourth of what he promised me: the title, the powers and the respect. He probably still believes that I cling to the hope that I will, someday, regain them. That is not the case." Pause. "In other words, tonight is the night I am _quitting_. Not that he knows. I'll still be sending him reports through his agent--"

"His agent?" repeated Hugo.

"A merchant." Barmond shrugged. "A glorified messenger, really."

"Huh," said Ranphoros. "You'll tell Hugo more about that later. My point is: do you believe that I have more to offer you than Otto Von Schwertzwald himself? Your own sire?"

"You already have." Barmond smiled, weary. "Red retainers are the mark of a 'true' vampire."

Ranphoros laughed. Listening to him wasn't quite as disagreeable as it had been before.

"Serve me well," said Ranphoros, "and you'll have as many as you desire. On top of other favours you might earn, that is."

He smiled knowingly. Barmond glanced at the bed opposite to them. Even if that wasn't what Ranphoros had in mind, hearing "favours" in his mouth provoked certain thoughts. When he brought his attention back on the incubus lord, it became apparent that Barmond's small moment of weakness had not gone unnoticed. Thankfully, Ranphoros did not comment.

"Understood, my lord," Barmond said.

"That brings us to the matters of your duties. More jenever?"

"No thank you."

Ranphoros served himself. Barmond was pretty sure that incubus were not immune to the effect of alcohol, and Ranphoros had already taken a lot of it in a short amount of time.

"First and foremost," he said, "I want to see every report that you send to your sire. Not that I will be planning any actions against him that I don't want you reporting, mind you, I won't ask you to change anything in them."

"Of course."

"Second, I want you to help me deal with a few particular troubles I've been having recently. I am correct to assume that you are specialized in information gathering, right?"

"You might be correct to assume that."

"Excellent. Then you will be assisting Hugo here, with the imps."

It was a good thing that Barmond wasn't drinking when he heard that: he would have spat it all over the beautiful Persian carpet.

" _Pardon?_ " he said.

"Hugo, the man standing right here." Ranphoros gestured at the werewolf, that was beaming at them. "We've agreed before your return that your set of skills are complementary. You will make a fine addition to his pack."

"My lord," said Barmond. "With all due respect, one does not add a vampire to a werewolf pack."

"If you say so. You'll still be under Hugo's orders, for now. He's quite qualified when it comes to handling a vampire, as you've experienced firsthand."

Barmond's fists tightened when he remembered the night where Hugo had broken into him like one break into a safe. Bastards. Both of them. But especially Hugo, that was standing there looking so damn pleased it made Barmond want to kick his face.

"He will be keeping an eye on you as well," Ranphoros continued. "As you might have guessed, he is going to be the one making sure that you accept Yoven as your red retainer, meaning that he will be in the room the first few times you'll bite him. You are also expected to report to him how many times you typically need to feed and how much you do feed. I've been told that you were particularly well behaved when it came to that, but I will be having no hungry vampires in my home regardless. Any complains, Rotberg?"

"None, my lord."

"Perfect. By the way, I do want to come back to something we have discussed earlier. I want to dispel any sort of misunderstanding you might have had."

"My lord?"

"You were right when you said that you wouldn't touch my daughter because she is my daughter," said Ranphoros. "I just want to make sure that you know that if that happens, I will return you to death _with my own two hands._ And that, Rotberg, will be a slow and painful process. Have I made myself clear?"

He met Barmond's eyes at the end of his declaration and there was no mistaking the bloodlust in them.

"That-- That is _crystal_ clear, my lord," said Barmond.

"Good. There are many more things I wish to discuss with you but I am getting a little too tipsy for that." He slammed his empty glass, stood up, and stretched. His long wings unfolded, and the movement in itself was among the most elegant that Barmond had been given to see. "Let us call it a night. You must be quite weary yourself, after all your travelling. You'll find Yoven in your quarters."

Barmond froze. He remembered that look of fear on Yoven's face. He couldn't be anything else but a mess. Red retainers could take years of grooming before serving, being fed information about the dark world of vampires drop by drop. Yoven had not had this luxury. 

He was no looking forward to _that_ converation.


	16. The Dilemma

Two rooms. A small drawing-room, with some cushioned chairs around a table that wasn't large enough to be a proper dining table. A few of the white torches had been lit, the only decoration of the bare stone walls. Some cabinets. In the other room, visible through the open door, was a large double bed and some more furniture.

Hugo closed the door behind him as he followed Barmond. The latter had already forgotten that he existed. He could hear the frantic pitter-patter of a scared heart in the bedroom, so that is where he went. Yoven was crouched in a corner, hands joined, mouthing prayers. He opened his eyes when Barmond entered the room, then slowly stood up. He looked... terrible. There was a bruise on one of his cheekbones, one that was a few days old, but the worse was the look of terror on his face.

"Do not approach me, spawn of Satan," he muttered, crossing himself.

It didn't do anything to Barmond but he stopped in his tracks anyway, out of respect. They were not off to a good start.

Yoven closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath. Once again, his dirty clothes clashed with the sombre but quality furniture around him. He was out of place.

"Yoven--"

"Don't 'Yoven' me!"

There was a silence. He had shouted, but even he looked startled by the sound of his own voice. Hugo was still hiding in the other room like a coward.

"Please calm down," said Barmond. He placed his hands in front of him, like he would for a wounded animal. "I am not going to hurt you."

He shook his head. "I don't believe you."

"You can trust me. I will not hurt you."

" _Vampire_."

This situation would be so much easier if Barmond was capable of hypnotising like a proper vampire. He could calm the other down subtly, making him believe that he was safe. Now, unless he wanted to erase his memory of when he had entered the room, he couldn't do anything but use his words.

"That's what you are, aren't you?" asked Yoven.

"Yes. That's what I am."

"What did you do to me?" he asked. "In my sleep?"

Barmond was put on the spot. He opened his mouth, but not a sound came out.

"Did you... did you take some of my blood?" asked Yoven. "They kept asking me that question. 'Did he drink from you? Did he bite your neck?' I told them no, but then-- 'Did you sleep with him near you?' And I said _yes_. Did you drink my blood?"

Barmond nodded his head.

"Where did you..." Yoven brought his hand to his mouth, as if looking for the word. "Where did you bite me? You bit me?"

"On the neck."

"On the neck." He touched himself there.

"On the other side."

Yoven's hand remained there, cupping the spot where Barmond had sank in his fangs. He seemed calmer now, pensive.

"On the other side," he muttered to himself. He pulled his hand away and reported his attention on Barmond once more. This time there was fury in his eyes. "So you just took it, and you didn't ask anything."

"Yoven--"

"Don't _say_ it like that! You are a monster. Don't-- Don't look at me with those eyes. It's all lies. Everyone is a monster here-- Working for the devil! And you do too."

"Ranphoros is not the devil."

"He certainly looks like one."

"He is not," said Hugo, stepping into sight. "You are wrong."

Yoven looked startled to see the man appear - especially that Hugo was frowning, obviously stepping in just to defend the honour of his lord. Barmond raised a hand in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. Fury, that he had kept bottled up to this point, bubbled up to the surface.

"Stand back, you toadish oaf," he hissed. "You did _enough_."

Hugo seemed shocked by the sudden anger. He gave Barmond a look, searching his face for... something, then nodded and stepped back into the shadows of the doorway. Barmond turned his back to him, but Yoven kept glancing at him, as if checking that he would suddenly attack.

"You are safe now," said Barmond. "You are with me."

"Safe? With _you_? How am I supposed to be safe? You're a vampire. You're the worse--"

"I will _not_ hurt you, Yoven. I promise."

"Then what will you do to me?"

Barmond sighed. "How about we sit down and talk about it? And then I will answer all of your questions."

They moved to the other room, Hugo stepping to the side in front of them to let them pass. The latter didn't sit down with them but chose to remain in the background, staying in his role as an observer. For a sheep among wolves - no bad pun intended - Yoven was relatively calm. Barmond could relate to him, he still remembered the first time he had come in contact with the strange, dark underbelly of the world, almost forty-five years ago.

"What is a red retainer?" Yoven asked.

"Well-- That is a human," said Barmond, "that gives blood to a vampire on the regular. Knowingly. So the vampire... they bite their retainers when they get hungry. And a vampire can have several retainers, but each retainer only serves one vampire."

"Are their other vampires here? In Gardel?"

"No." Barmond shook his head to emphasize his point. "They are forbidden. Except for me, but that's a whole other story."

Yoven nodded, pensive. He then pointed at Hugo.

"And he is a werewolf, like the others," he stated.

"Oh?" said Hugo. "That's quite clever of you to guess. I didn't transform in front of you. In fact, I think only Irene did."

"You didn't have to. Before... all of this... I mean, before I was without a job, the master would go on hunting trips, and I'd help take care of the dogs. I wasn't the _dogkeeper_ , per se, but she told me that dogs like to think in packs and that they obey the strongest dogs. So I watched them do, and I learned a little." Beat. "What I'm trying to say is that they were acting the same way towards you."

Barmond snorted. That was one way to call Hugo a dog, even if Hugo himself didn't seem to mind it. He just nodded and smiled at Yoven. It was the sort of smile that warmed one's heart, it radiated good intentions, and really, Hugo had no business knowing how to smile like _t_ _hat_. Barmond's joy was short-lived, and he quickly brought Yoven's attention back on him.

"Do you have any other questions?"

"Hmm. Does... does a red retainer serve a vampire as a man-servant does?"

"Not... as intensely. A vampire generally tries to salvage their retainer's strength when they can. If you're asking _me_ how you'll be treated, I'll have you know that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Yoven had an odd look: he narrowed his eyes and tilted his head ever-so-slightly, as if he was doubting Barmond. Why would he? Barmond wondered. And then he remembered that, last time they had met, he had been so terrified that Yoven, a homeless, defenceless man, had held him in his arms and assured him that everything would be all right. But that had nothing to do with day-to-day matters!

"Will you hurt me?" asked Yoven.

"I will not."

"But you'll drink my blood."

"That will not hurt you."

"How is that not hurting me? Will you do it in my sleep? When I am not aware?" Yoven was getting mad again, his fists tightening on the table. "Don't lie to me."

"I will not hurt you! You will feel no pain and I will not take much. You'll be in perfect health. The truth is that I would rather not do this to you at all. But I'm not the only one that's forced here."

Barmond sent a side glare at Hugo, that rose his hands as if to protest his innocence.

"I told Ranphoros that there was no need for such dramatics, but he wouldn't listen to me," he said.

"I'm sure you did." Barmond kept quiet for a moment, thinking. And then he turned his full body to Hugo, a glare on his features. "Tell me one thing: what would have happened to him if Ranphoros hadn't decided that he might be of use?"

For the first time since Barmond had met him, Hugo's eyes shifted away from his. It was brief, because they came back to him, meeting him once more head-on.

"He knows too much about us, and he's a nobody. He would have been killed," said Hugo.

"And I wouldn't have known a thing."

"What do you care about him anyway?" said Hugo. Was he-- Was he mad? Barmond couldn't recall another instance where he had seen him even get frustrated. "If we wouldn't have brought him up again, you wouldn't have spared him a second thought."

"What do you know about that?" Barmond stood up from his chair.

"Because I know how vampires work! Did you even spare a passing thought for the _other_ homeless man you attacked?"

"The other... one?"

Barmond suddenly recalled. Before he was even captured, the man in the blind alley. His scared face. His bony frame. How the hunger had made Barmond into an animal looking to kill - no, lower than an animal still, a _beast_. He had not thought of it until Hugo had mentioned it once more.

"The old man," said Hugo. "That one. You haven't thought about him, right? Because he's dead."

That knocked any semblance of anger out of Barmond, along with all the air in his lungs. He sat back down. That man was dead. He had only tasted a single sip of his blood. Had he made a mistake? Had he torn his neck out? No, he had bitten his body shoulder. But then, how...

"I'm sorry," Hugo said. "I didn't mean-- I didn't want it to come out like that."

"Did you kill him?" Barmond said. "Because he had seen too much?"

"Not me."

"So you did. One of your pack."

"Neither. Ranphoros ordered his death, and Shame killed him. She's the executioner."

Maybe Hugo was right because Barmond didn't feel as sad as he should be. He was the one that had caused this death, involuntarily. If he had been capable of being more discreet... erasing the human's memory, perhapse. But that had not been the case, and now it was too late. Hugo had partaken in this death too, and that stalker as well, and Ranphoros and that Shame person. The whole nest had murdered an old man in the name of self-preservation.

He looked at Yoven, on the other side of the table. He seemed sadder than what Barmond was, at least from what he could tell through his beard. In the light of the torches, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, and through the grim, the top part of his face looked young, younger than what Barmond had previously estimated.

"Yoven," said Hugo, "Barmond will not hurt you."

He said with such absolute confidence that Barmond wondered how anyone could not believe him. Yoven sent him a weary look anyway - not a hateful one, just tired.

"Yoven," Barmond asked. "How did they treat you while you were here?"

"Me?" His eyes went to Barmond, then Hugo. He seemed to be scared to say the wrong thing. "They... they took me in, and asked many questions."

"Did they hit you?"

His lips thinned. "Yes," he said in a small voice. "Once or twice."

"I told them not to," Hugo said.

"Hugo, do I really have to bite him tonight?" asked Barmond. "Look at him. He's not going anywhere, and I am not going anywhere. Choosing a red retainer can take years, and Ranphoros wants that to happen in a single evening. That's nonsense."

"I've gotten my orders. I am not going anywhere until you bit him."

"Oh dear Mother's Blood," Barmond swore. He stood up from his chair, standing up to Hugo. "Can't you see that he needs rest? He needs a wash, and new clothes, and some warm food. I'm not feeding on him tonight."

Barmond thought that Hugo was going to start protesting about how it was Ranphoros' orders, that none of them had a choice but, surprisingly, he didn't. Instead, Hugo paused and frowned as he seemed in deep thought, his eyes going from Barmond to Yoven and back to Barmond.

"All right," he said eventually. "You are right. He had gone through a lot. It's only fair that he's been given a break. However, I am going to need you to make some concessions for that."

"Of course." Barmond nodded. "I'm willing to stay in this room with him for as long as it takes. If Ranpharos can't trust me to be around his nest without some leash on me--"

"More than that," said Hugo. "If you won't be biting him, you'll be biting me."

Barmond suddenly felt like a deer paralysed in front of a forest fire. He relived that feeling of betrayal he had felt after he had been bloodblissed. Yes, it had felt nice after the crazy rodeo that it had been up until that point, but the very idea that someone could crack him open like that - with a little blood and kindness - was a special brand of personal horror. Thinking that he might risk creating any sort of link with a man that could do that to him was... well, it wasn't the choice he would have gone with.

Was Yoven really worth it?

Asking himself that question sort of felt... off, to be honest. He couldn't quite put the finger on it, before he realised it felt that way because he had stopped asking himself that question a long time ago. When he had first become a vampire, in fact. There was no such thing as base _consideration_ for a human's comfort, not back at Schwertzwald. He had been taught from the very first night as a blood-sucker that humans were food. One might develop some sort of relationship with them, but that would be frowned upon.

A vampire came first. Well... at least a full-blooded vampire did. And then came the young full-blooded vampire. The half-blood came third, and when the human's turn never came, the third might as well be the last position. He knew what it was to be treated as an expendable resource. By the Goddess, that was the very reason why he had been sent to Gardel in the first place. But did that really mean that he had what it took to make a selfless decision?

"I'll do it," said Yoven. "It's fine."

Barmond turned to him, shocked. Yoven stood up as well. He was quite tall, albeit on the skinner side. With a little more meat on him, he might have cut an admirable figure. Alas, the only thing that was too big about him were his dirty clothes.

"Why?" asked Hugo.

"Well..." There was no standing up to Hugo when he had that piercing look; Yoven looked at his feet, his voice wavering. "Because it's my choice. It's fine if he drinks my blood. I'm strong enough. And if he said that it won't hurt..."

Barmond was confused.

"Hmm. If that is your final decision, then I will not contest it," Hugo said.

Yoven took a breath as if to speak but clearly changed his mind before he said his first word. His eyes shifted between the two of them.

"Is something the matter?" asked Hugo.

"Is it okay if I... groom myself before that? Unless it's fine for Barmond to share with lice."

Hugo tried not to laugh, but he snorted, and then it was too late to stop himself. Barmond failed to see how that was amusing. Lice? He _hated_ lice. Poor Yoven must feel horribly uncomfortable.

"We need to have that taken care immediately," said Barmond. "As well as getting new clothes. Hugo, could you please see to that instead of standing around mocking him?"

"Now you're ordering me around, little Barmond?"

"Considering that you're the only one that can leave this room at the moment, yes, I am."

For some reason, that only renewed Hugo's hilarity. Barmond stood there, armed crossed, a straight look on his face, until he had fully calmed down.

"No need to look at me like that," said Hugo. "I'll get it someone to help you. Is there anything you would like, Yoven?"

"Well-- If that's okay with you, could you get a good shaving blade, as well?" Yoven ran a hand through his beard. "It's been a while since I last got to see my own face."

"Hmm. And a mirror, too. Some clothes and a basin of hot water is in order as well?"

"Hot water?" Yoven seemed mildly panicked at the mere mention of it. "Cold water will do fine, I don't want to be too much trouble--"

"Nonsense." Hugo smiled at him. "We got our ways. You'll see, it's no trouble at all."

"Then why didn't you offer that earlier?" Barmond snapped.

"It's okay--" said Yoven.

"Well, aren't you being protective?" Hugo said. "A vampire's first retainer is always a special one..."

"Hey-- That's not it!" Barmond said. "I'm only pointing out the inconsistencies. You've done a poor job at taking care of him until I arrived, and now you want to pretend as if you're that perfect guy? I see what you are doing here."

"What? I wasn't even there half of the time. Your name was familiar to me, so I had to travel all the way to the vampire hunter's guild and call in an old favor to have a look at their registers. If I would have known that they would even hit him--"

"Wait-- You know the hunter's guild?"

Hugo smiled, but Barmond could tell that he was not supposed to have said that. This was interesting information. One of those days, Barmond would have to look into Hugo's past and try to figure out what other secrets he might be hiding - but now was not the moment.

"I'll get going," Hugo said. "You two, stay put. If you leave this room, I'll know. And, Yoven, don't worry about changing your mind. I've been bitten a few times in my life, I wouldn't mind one more."

"Go away, _mutt_ ," Barmond said.

"I'll consider it," Yoven said.

Hugo gave Barmond one last smile, a wide one full of perfectly white teeth, before he left.


	17. The Trust

After Hugo was gone, there was an awkward silence, for a few moments, between the two. Barmond was never one for long, heartfelt conversation. In fact, with all the talking and the negotiation he had done on that night, he was almost all talked out. No more mind games. That was all he wanted.

Yet, it was him that broke the silence.

"So, tell me, before the annoying brute comes back," Barmond asked, "why did you change your mind?"

"Change my mind?"

"About letting me bite you."

"Oh--" He looked down, at the ground. "Well, I-- You're going to think that I am silly, but-- It troubles you, right?"

"I don't want to push you too far. That's not a good first impression. We just met, and we're going to be stuck together for... a while, at least."

"That's not what I meant. He said that he was fine if you bit him, and then you looked... well, you looked as if you didn't like the idea."

"I did?"

Yoven nodded.

Barmond sighed. He must have been a lot more obvious than what he thought he was, for a stranger to be able to tell.

"You shouldn't have," he said. "That's a matter between him and me."

"What happened?"

Barmond shrugged. He wasn't sure he wanted to answer, but he supposed that hearing about that experience might ease Yoven into it. After all, Barmond supposed that knowing that it was possible to flip the situation on a drinking vampire might feel empowering.

"As you might have guessed, when a vampire drinks from someone, they can create a link. That's because blood, for a vampire... well, it's a bit hard to describe what it feels like, especially to a human that never went through the experience. Let's just say that when a vampire drinks, that's when they are most vulnerable, and once that I was drinking from Hugo-- the _only_ time I ever drank from him, he used that against me."

"How?"

Barmond shrugged.

"Did he hit you?"

"No! No, not at all. On the contrary. He put me in a sort of... trance? And he made me confess things that I wasn't supposed to say, by making me believe that it was safe to say them."

"Oh. Well. That's a better way to interrogate someone than hitting them."

That reminded Barmond of Yoven's bruise.

"Oh-- Speaking of which, are you hurt anywhere?" he said. "We should have asked for some help. They must have someone that can heal in this whole damn place..."

"I'm fine, it's just a little sore. I've seen worse." He gestured to his beard. "I've been on the street for... a while. Eventually, I would have found a way out."

"What happened to you?"

Before he could reply, Yoven was interrupted by the door opening. Hugo had done it, but he was not alone. There were two short beings with him, dressed in dark clothes. Barmond had never seen halflings this small in his life, before he realized that they were, in fact, gnomes. He had only heard of them before, as they were part of the sort of creatures that had a foot in legends and a foot in everyday life. As far as Barmond could tell, it was a lady and a guy, even if they both wore pants.

"Hi," said the one with breasts at Yoven. She was carrying a roll-up meter and a pile of a neatly folded change of clothes. "You're the one that needs a new wardrobe? Could you sit on a chair for me? Preferably, if you could strip as well, that would be wonderful."

"I think that right there will do," said the other gnome at Hugo, pointing at a spot with no carpet on the ground.

Hugo placed the wooden tub he had been carrying.

Barmond could see that Yoven was startled by the sight of the tiny people from the way he looked at the vampire for reassurance. The latter nodded at him, briefly, letting him know that it was all right. He hoped he wasn't about to sign himself, even as a reflex. He didn't know how well they would take it.

"Hello?" said the gnomess - she had a higher-pitched voice than her counterpart, so she probably _was_ a lady gnome in pants. "You _are_ the one that needs new clothes, right?"

"I... yes," he said.

She pulled a chair. "Shed your coat for me, honey. And then some more. Okay?"

"Right here?" asked Yoven as he looked around.

Meanwhile, the other gnome was saying strange words over the tub as it slowly filled with clean water. Hugo was supervising, bobbing his head as if he understood what was being said. Yoven had yet to notice the use of magic in his vicinity, or maybe he was too overwhelmed to react.

"Yeah." She smiled. "Don't worry. All right?"

"But... is it all right if I disrobe in front of a woman?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Honey, it's my job. Trust me, you'll get used to seeing plenty of naked people in public around here."

"Why? How come?"

"Oh, don't you know--"

"I'll explain later," interrupted Barmond, "when it's a bit quieter. If we could get this done with as quickly as possible, that would be perfect. Is there no way for him to keep his clothes while you work?"

"All right, sir," she said. Her polite tone didn't quite hide that she was miffed by his abrupt intervention. "I guess that I can work if you have a light shirt on."

Yoven finally agreed to remove his cloak and several layers of clothes but was allowed to stand in his breeches and a light shirt. He was skinny and she commented that she would make his clothes a little bigger to give him some room to "fatten up", as she said it. She clicked her tongue when she was all done measuring him.

After that, he was brought to the tub that they had prepared for him.

"Wait, it's warm--" he said.

"Just a little warming water spell," said the gnome. "It's not going to hurtch'a."

"Oh, you mean-- Makes sense. Thank you so much. And thank you as well," he added, for the gnomess.

They told him it wasn't any trouble, and both gnomes made their way out the door. Hugo handed him a razor.

"It's my old one," said Hugo. "It's still sharp but I'm not using it anymore after someone offered me a new one."

"Thank you," said Yoven.

"You're welcome. Besides, it's not like smoothcheeks over there has any that he would lend you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Barmond asked.

"I thought vampires didn't grow beards unless they had one on the day of their death?"

"That's all you mean?"

Hugo rose his hands in the air with that smug grin on his stupid face. "All I meant. You got to stop being so susceptible."

"And you got to stop smiling like you want to be punched in the mouth."

Hugo laughed, probably because he knew that whatever punch Barmond could throw wouldn't even leave a bruise on him. Barmond hoped that if he glared at him with enough hate, he could bluff his way into making him think that they could. After all, he had a knife in his puffy sleeve. He wouldn't hesitate before stabbing him. It wouldn't be a punch, but at least Hugo wouldn't laugh then.

"I think mister Rocher is quite all right," said Yoven.

"Of course you do, he just gave you a present," said Barmond. Yoven started to shake his head to deny it, but the vampire was still talking. "Besides, we're only preventing you from enjoying your bath, we'll be leaving right away."

"Both of you?"

"Yes, and we'll even be staying together." Hugo's hand fell on Barmond's shoulder, as heavy as a guillotine. "I'm tasked with keeping an eye on him after all, and we have much to discuss."

Barmond sent him a glare as he stepped away from Hugo, escaping the grip of his large hand. If the man was going to be this overbearing during his stay in Gardel all the time, he was going back to Schwertzwald.

"Actually, I was hoping that Barmond could stay... maybe. To help me."

"I'd love to help," Barmond said before Hugo could reply.

"Are you sure that you don't want to come with me?" Hugo asked. "You know that we'll have to have those conversations earlier rather than later."

"Just leave already," said Barmond.

"Fine, fine, but you know I'll never be too far... Oh, by the way," Hugo tapped the edge of a basin with various washing supplies he had brought in earlier, "those are for you. You might want to try this lotion for the lice. There are scissors as well. And a marine sponge, curtesy to our allies the Kwu'stus."

"Thank you," Barmond said. "Now leave."

Hugo rolled his eyes but he was smiling. "See you later. I'll be leaving someone outside, just in case. With everything that has been going on, I need to go gather my pack before they make a mess."

And then he finally, _finally_ passed the door.

"Good riddance," said Barmond. "He's so _tiring_."

"What's a Kwu'stus?" asked Yoven.

"I have no idea, actually. You can ask him later if you wish."

Yoven shrugged, then went to sit on a chair. He was still in his light clothes, even if he didn't seem to mind quite as much now that he was alone with a man. Barmond went to grab the scissors.

"I'm afraid that I am no barber," he said, "and that I haven't had to trim any sort of hair in a while. It's not going to look great."

"That's fine," said Yoven. "I just want you to shave it all."

"Shave it?"

"Shave it, and burn my clothes too. I don't want to keep any more lice." He continued speaking, in a lower tone, "or traces of that part of my life. Since I'll be staying here now, I guess, with you."

Barmond nodded. Saying that he wasn't impressed with the other's resolve would have been a lie. He had met humans that were a lot less accepting of the presence of a hidden face to their world than Yoven.

"Maybe we can spread out your shirt on the ground to get the hair there," suggested Barmond. "And then we can scoop them up in one go and have them burned."

"That is a good idea," said Yoven.

He took out his shirt and Barmond saw what he looked like beneath. It wasn't as bad as he thought it could become, but he could still count the other's ribs. He was also dirty, with rashes on his body where his clothes had rubbed in one spot without being taken off. Barmond surveyed him once, just to make sure that there wasn't anything that needed immediate treatment, then looked away. He didn't want to make the other feel as if he was checking what spot would be the juiciest to bite.

Yoven sat down, and Barmond got to work.

"Your hands are cold," said Yoven. "Is that normal for a vampire?"

"It is. Does it bother you?"

"No... not too much. I'm warm."

There was a short silence in the conversation. Barmond focused on cutting as much as he could without pulling on Yoven's hair, which was easier said than done considering how tangled up it was. He quickly found that it was better to slice through rather than untangle it. It was a good thing that Yoven wanted it all gone. Under Barmond's hands, his mop of unruly dark brown hair soon shaped into a battlefield's mess.

"Why were you running away when we first met?" asked Yoven. "Those are the same people, right?"

"Yes, they are. I thought that I was their prisoner at the time."

"How-- How can you not know if you're someone's prisoner?"

"Well, I _was._ They captured me after they found out that I was a spy in their city. But then I escaped before they could tell me that they wanted to keep me and have me working for them." Beat. "But it turned out all right for them in the end. I gave them a way to control me."

"I don't understand. I mean, I know they told you to bite me... But why would it stop you? If you want to do anything? You're working for them, right, so why do they-- You know? I don't know how to say it."

"I understand what you mean." Beat. "The thing is, when a vampire bites a human - or anything with blood - again and again, they grow attached to them. When you are a vampire, drinking blood is like... it's indescribable. Have you ever been in love, Yoven?"

There was a silence from Yoven. And then, after a while, he said, "no, I can't say I have. Never _really_ in love as they do it in the stories. Or how some of the other servants would describe it."

"That's fine," said Barmond, "I can't say that I have been either. I've had many, many crushes, but they were never... anyway. What I am trying to say is that when a vampire bites someone, that vampire temporarily feels very close to that person, a little as if they would have been in love with them. And then, over time, this feeling for that person starts to spill out and becomes permanent."

"A bit as if you were falling in love?"

"A little."

"But... that's not natural. I'm a man. You can't fall in love with me."

"Well--" Barmond stilled his hands. "It's not _real_ love, of course. That would be strange."

"Oh. That makes sense."

Barmond resumed his haircut if that could be called a haircut.

"But-- Wait a moment," Yoven said. "You won't be _behaving_ as if you were in love with me, right?"

"Well..."

Barmond stilled and tried to recall how other vampires behaved around their own red retainers. Back at his clan, those that had some had been quite private with them, meaning that Barmond had rarely seen them interact, and before that... Well, he was more interested in knowing who they were and how to capture them. Using retainers as hostages was an age-old tactic of vampire warfare.

"Are you going to kiss me?" asked Yoven.

"I will not."

"But you will want to kiss me?"

"No! I don't think I will want to." Beat. "I don't know. But I know that it will be extremely painful for me to lose you."

"So... what you're saying is that you're stuck with me. Even if you are a vampire."

"So it seems. So has decided Ranphoros."

"Ranphoros?"

"Lord Ranphoros. The incubus you saw before?"

Yoven turned around and, in his big, soft hazel eyes, there was nothing but confusion. Barmond sighed.

"The big, pink devil," he said.

" _Lord?_ Lord of what?"

"Everyone under Gardel."

" _Under Gardel?_ How many people live under here?"

"I wish I knew, and it would have been my job to figure that out, but I haven't had the time to keep tabs on how much food is brought down-- Ack, never mind. Lord Ranphoros is known to be a genius at keeping an ace up his sleeve."

"But-- But who titled him? Does the king _know?_ "

"No, he doesn't." Beat. "I don't _think_ that he does. He's not called lord for the same reasons that human nobles are. It has to do with how an incubus nest is made."

Yoven was listening to every word he said with such rapt attention that his mouth was hanging open.

"How about you give me the razor and I tell you all about it while I scrape it off?"

Yoven handed it to him and he turned around in his seat, letting Barmond do. He trusted him with that, at least.

"Incubus and succubus look like demons," said Barmond, "but in fact, they are not related to them. They are closer to imps in that regard. The two are similar, but they are not the _exact_ same thing. Do you know what an incubus is?"

"I know what a succubus is."

"Of course you do. Everyone knows what a succubus is. Well, an incubus is the male equivalent of a succubus. They feed the same way."

"Do they... you know? On men?"

"What?" Barmond almost said no, then realized he couldn't be quite sure. "I think they prefer to prey on women."

"So it's not the same thing."

"It's the same thing. The genders are reversed."

"But... women don't have any... you know... They don't, right?"

"They don't have any what?"

Yoven whispered a word, low enough that Barmond had to guess that he was mouthing "semen". That had the vampire rolling his eyes. He should have known that Yoven would believe that silly legend.

"Succubus don't feed on men's semen," Barmond said. "That's not how it works. They suck on your energy when you orgasm."

"Oh," Yoven said in the shakiest voice there was. "They do that. Hm."

"And incubus do as well. But that's not what I wanted to tell you-- I wanted to say that even if they are capable of having sex with many different creatures - not just humans - they can only reproduce with one another. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any offsprings. The problem is, succubus are very social, to the point that they like to gather in nests, and males can't stand the sight of each other."

"Like deers? With the does living in groups and the stags fighting over them?"

"Something like that, except that incubus would rather not fight one another - because, when they do, they are even deadlier than stags."

"Is a lord the incubus of a nest of succubus?"

"Not _just_ that. An incubus lord usually lives in a nest, but a younger incubus can also occupy that position if he can. An incubus becomes a lord after a certain age, if he survives this long. The short of it is that their magical powers receive a huge boost. Their appearance also changes. Wings, horns - they get a bigger everything."

"Even a bigger... _thing_?"

"I... I'm not sure. I hope not. Incubus are already-- erm-- _endowed_. I don't know if it's true, but there are even are some rumours that talk about them having two."

"Two? What for?"

"Well... one for the front, one for the back."

" _At the same time?_ "

"You would have to ask a woman that's been with one for that, I don't know. Just repeating the rumours. Don't move-- I'm getting the last few hairs here."

"Sorry."

"You're fine."

There was a small lull in the conversation.

"So... this Ranporos," Yoven said.

"Ranphoros."

"Ranphoros. He's an incubus. How come mister Rocher is a werewolf? He's like... some sort of officer for Ranphoros? Wouldn't that be the place of a succubus? And what are you doing here, in his nest, if you're a vampire?"

"Hugo is lord Ranphoros' second in command, actually," said Barmond. "Ranphoros is the master of more than his nest. Well, he _used_ to be - I wasn't even born when all that happened, so I'm only repeating what I know - but then he started taking in other creatures as food for himself and his succubus. A little bit like a vampire and a red retainer."

"They fall in love too?"

"I don't think so? I think I would know if they did. The fact of the matter is, it started with one, then two, and before he knew it he had a werewolf pack, and some gnomes, and a gargoyle, and even a stalker at his service. And who knows what else."

"I think I saw some humans."

"And an elf, too. A wood one."

"Oh. Those are a little spooky sometimes."

"They aren't scarier than a vampire."

Barmond was done. He wiped the last few hairs off the razor blade on to Yoven's old shirt. He didn't fear the lice. What were they going to do to him? Bite his bloodless skin? Starve? So scary.

"You're not that scary;" said Yoven. "So far, at least."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Yoven was still a stranger to him. Really, they had just met. But... for some reason, Barmond was glad to hear that he had somewhat tamed his fear, if only a little. It was the little steps that counted.


	18. The Bite

Barmond was careful not to cut Yoven as he worked - the last thing he wanted was to be tempted by the sight of some of his blood. He wasn't exactly hungry, not yet, that didn't change the fact that he remembered Yoven's blood to be to his liking, last time he had drunk it. And, before he knew it, his mind was going back to biting Yoven, and if he really should be doing that.

Yoven was thinking of similar things.

"Were you ever bitten by a vampire?"

"A few times, when I was a human."

"And?"

"Most of them hurt like a fucking bitch. But that probably had to do with the fact that they were biting me in self-defence. A vampire fed on me only once, and that was on the day I died."

Yoven turned around, interested. With no more hair falling in front of his eyes, the light of the torch danced freely on his hazel irises, revealing some green undertones. They were strikingly pretty.

"How did it feel?" asked Yoven.

"It felt... amazing," said Barmond. It was hard to hold the other's gaze as he tried to find words to describe. "I had given myself to my sire willingly, but-- I didn't know the true meaning of giving myself until he started to drink. Suddenly, you know that vampire, and that vampire knows you. For a second, you understand how monks can devote their whole life to a god. And--"

He couldn't say the end. He breathed in deeply. He had to look away just to be able to say it.

"No woman made me feel that way. So... wanted."

"You mean it was physical too?"

"What else? But also, more."

"Like..."

"Like paradise."

There was silence.

"But that was as I was giving all of my blood, till the very last drop," said Barmond. "It's part of being turned into a vampire. We won't be doing that."

"But I'll like it?"

"Probably. Humans never resist me when I start drinking."

"Even men?"

"It's not sexual. I mean... It is. But actually, it's more as if you were masturbating."

"Oh dear, but, that's a sin."

"It's not like you're actually masturbating. It's a vampire giving that pleasure to you."

"Oh. That makes sense."

"Don't worry too much about it," said Barmond. "It will feel natural after a while. Now, do you want me to take care of your beard as well?"

"I'll do that myself."

Yoven turned his chair around so that he would be above the spread shirt. Looking at him was odd for Barmond, that had already grown used to seeing him with his mop of hair and his bushy beard, but he supposed that it was normal for someone in an in-between state.

"Is there any mirrors around here?" asked Yoven.

"There must be," said Barmond.

He went through the cabinets and found that some already were furnished with some tools - namely, the tools that he had left back at his room at the inn, as well as his old hat, gloves, and his bag. He found a mirror in the bedroom, at the foot of the servant's bed, that was in the wall behind a curtain.

"There," he said as he showed it to Yoven. "Do you want me to hold it for you?"

"Please," said Yoven. "Right there is perfect."

He got to it. Barmond watched as he did, attentively. He discovered his features as Yoven went on. There were imperfections on his high cheekbones, like a starmap, the leftovers of Yoven's troubled teen skin, probably. Barmond could finally give him an age, too: late twenties. Maybe even thirty, but not more than that.

Yoven focused on his work. He seemed to know what he was doing and wanted to get it done as fast as possible. All too soon was he done, having rid himself of every last hair on his head. He looked up at Barmond.

"Better," said Yoven.

"I'm glad. You are younger than what I first thought you would be. Not that it's a bad thing.

"Really?" Beat. "How old are you?"

"Me? I haven't aged since the day I was turned. Are you asking the age at which I died, how many years it's been since then, or the total of those two?"

"Oh, erm-- Well, I suppose that I'm interested in all of those three answers."

"The age I look like is thirty-eight. It's been twenty-one years since then, so that puts my total age at fifty-nine."

"Only? That's a relief."

"It is?"

"I thought you were going to say some insane age, like a hundred years old or something. Vampires can live forever, right?"

"Depends on the vampire. Some are expected to return to their death earlier than others, depending on how they were brought back:"

"How come?"

"It's a long story. Your bath is getting cold. How about I see if there is anyone outside the door that would be willing to get all that burned?" Barmond gestured towards the pile of hair on his old shirt.

"Right-- Please, let's get that done. Have my pants too."

Yoven got undressed - Barmond took care of looking away to give him some privacy - and Barmond bundled up everything. There was, indeed, one of Ranphoros' men waiting on the other side of the door. He seemed more willing to take care of their trash after a little donation from Barmond's purse. By the time he was negotiated, Yoven had slipped into the water and was making good use of the sponge.

"How is it?" Barmond asked.

"It did cool down a bit - but I don't mind. Even when I was serving master Frenkes I had to bathe in cold water. He is rich, but not rich enough to afford someone that could cast those sort of spells."

"You were a servant before?"

"Yes, I was. I can work for you as one as well if you wish."

"If you had a home in a household, how did you end up on the streets?"

Yoven seemed a little sheepish, all of a sudden. He glanced at Barmond before he adverted his eyes.

"Well, it's a bit of an embarrassing story, you know," he said. "My master... my _former_ master took me in when I was a boy and the other servants raised me, as well as taught me how to take care of the master best. I really wanted to do the best I could, but... One day, he called me in his office and said that I had tried to seduce his daughter and that he wouldn't employ me anymore. I promised I did not do anything, but he was adamant. And he threw me out."

"Did you?"

"I would never!"

Barmond was about to tell him that it was fine with him if he had, that he could tell him, but he looked in Yoven's eyes and realized that there was no need for that: he could see the other's distress in them. Barmond couldn't even imagine what it might be like to be cast away from the home that had seen you grow into a man.

"Why didn't you find another place since then to work at?" asked Barmond instead. "If you know how to take care of a household, you should have found some work."

"No one wants a seducer of daughters," said Yoven. He curled on himself, resting his head on his knees. "And... after a while, I didn't want to go back. Not that I didn't want to work, just... I couldn't take them saying no, again. So I did my best. I came to Gardel hoping that there would be a spot for me there but... I've been on the streets for so long, and I didn't know where to ask. I feel like a fool."

"No-- Don't feel like that." Before he knew what he was doing, Barmond had reached for Yoven's shoulder, stroking it. "You went through something very difficult, it's normal that you feel that way. It's all over now, you have a place to stay."

"As a vampire snack," said Yoven. There was a little bitterness in his voice. "I'm grateful, I really am but-- That's going to take some time to get used to. I didn't even know that vampires really existed until... well, until yesterday. Yesternight?" He took his head in his hands. "I don't know anymore. I'm scared. I know that I said that I will give it to you but... so much has been happening."

Barmond felt his chest tighten. He felt for the poor man. He didn't know what he could do to help-- Scratch that. He knew what he could do.

"It's okay," he said. "You don't have to do it tonight."

Yoven looked up. "But didn't Hugo say--"

"I know what he said." Barmond started to walk to the door. "I know you're trying to help, but I would rather you rest for tonight. It's getting late. You should finish washing and go to bed, in the extra one inside the wall."

"Barmond!"

But Barmond was already closing the door behind him.

The sentry that had been left there perked up when he appeared, probably recalling the little extra Barmond had given him earlier.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

"I'd like to speak to Hugo. I believe I am not to leave your surveillance, so you'll be my guide. Do you know where one might find him?"

The guard scratched his head. "I think he went back to the surface, get his pack in order."

"Then bring me to their sleeping quarters. I'll meet him there."

"And what about... uh..." The man looked towards the door of Barmond's quarters.

"He's still in his bath. He's not going to try and escape, even if he could."

That seemed to reassure the man, that nodded briefly. However, he still seemed a little nervous. Barmond wondered if the fact that he was a vampire had anything to do with it. He knew that, with the legends going around about his kind, anyone had cause enough to worry.

"This way," said the man, grabbing his lantern to light their path.

He led him through some more underground galleries, up to some stairs. They were approaching the surface again, Barmond realized, and the other seemed to realize as well. Nervous glances were now sent in Barmond's direction. As if he was going to try and escape! He wasn't a prisoner... right?

The ascension finished with a ladder and a trapdoor, that the man opened with ease. They emerged in what seemed to be some sort of storage room, even if it wasn't as furnished as it could have been. Barmond, with his sharp nose, noticed that, while the food seemed scarce, it was mostly meat, and there was no mistaking the alcohol barrels in a corner. He also detected the subtle musky smell of werewolf, that seemed to cling to everything.

They went through an empty kitchen, then into a large, shared living space. This was a decently sized, ground-level house. The man used his lantern to light some candles, seeing as it was empty and pitch-black.

"You won't try anything funny now, all right?" he said.

Ah, there it was, that slight fear in the voice. Having spent a little while in his company now, Barmond could tell that he was human. It didn't surprise him that Ranphoros would employ some at his service, just like his sire did. Barmond turned the largest, most Hugo-smelling chair towards the entrance door, then sat in it, taking his sweet time to answer. For a creature rumoured to be so dangerous, he seldom had the chance to inspire fear. Could he be blamed for savouring it, just a little?

(Unless it was Yoven, but Yoven's situation was different.)

"No," he said. "Attacking you, or hypnotising you, or doing anything of the sort would be counter-productive now, don't you think?"

"You never know."

"Indeed." Barmond threw an ankle over his knee, seating himself more comfortably in the large chair. The man was standing a few steps away, obviously too nervous to sit down himself. "Although I'll come out right away and tell you that I'm not that strong of a vampire. In fact, I'm only a little stronger and a little faster than most humans. Call it a birth defect. Armed with a torch alone, you would still stand a chance. Vampires are particularly sensitive to fire."

The man didn't answer and only stared at him from across the room. Barmond noticed how he held his lantern a little higher.

"Of course, if you suspect someone of being a vampire, you shouldn't approach them at all," said Barmond. "Not even with a torch."

"I thought you just said that vampires were sensitive to fire."

"Yes, and you're sensitive to _dying_. It's about the difference in strength. You would have a chance against me, maybe, if you took me by surprise and you knew what you were doing." Beat. "And having a companion equally suicidal as you would help. But against a vampire that has all of its powers? The question won't be whether or not you survive, but if your death will be mercifully swift or painfully slow."

"You're just trying to scare me."

"No. Luckily, you're not about to meet any sort of vampires around here any time soon. Apart from me, of course. I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

As he spoke, he could hear people approach outside, a group of men and women that would be around the size of Hugo's pack - they weren't trying to be discreet. Barmond didn't know if the man wanted to add something, for he was interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock of the door. A second later, it was swinging open and Hugo appeared... with Patricia hanging from his shoulder. He didn't seem surprised when he saw that there was someone in his chair.

"Good evening," he said with a small, knowing smile.

Just seeing him standing there, looking so smug, annoyed Barmond.

"Hey, you're not allowed _there_ ," said Patricia in a slurred speech. "That's not your chair!"

Hugo patted her on the head. "It's fine."

"But _no one is allowed in that chair,_ " she insisted.

Hugo stepped into the room with her, and the others of the pack came behind. They all had obviously drunk enough to be tipsy and had been chatting happily up to that point, but the mood because a lot bleaker the moment they saw Barmond. Once again, they stared at him as if he was about to pounce on them.

Patricia, on the other hand, wasn't intimidated at all. She tried to lunge at Barmond, even if that attempt was quickly and effortlessly cut short by Hugo.

"What do you want, Barmond," said Hugo, "apart from not scaring anyone."

Barmond stood up dramatically from his seat. "I changed my mind."

Hugo, thankfully, understood. He handed Patricia over to another of the pack and gestured for Barmond to follow him up the stairs. There was a series of doors on a balcony that was hanging over the living space; Hugo's room was at the very end of it. Barmond felt the eyes of the werewolves on him the whole way.

Hugo's room was quite large, with a door leading to a small balcony and windows on two of its walls. There was a double bed with a colourful quilt and, on top of it, several animal pelts. On the ground was a full bear hide, head included, and there were trophy antlers hung over the head of the bed. Barmond was very much reminded of Otto's room and he didn't like it.

"Lovely," he said in his driest voice.

"So, you really couldn't resist, couldn't you?" said Hugo. "Is my blood that delicious?"

"Don't be silly, it's disgusting," said Barmond. "But Yoven was terrified. He needs rest after everything he's been through, no thanks to you."

"I've already told you--"

"I know, I know, you were gone. But it would have cost you nothing to order that he wasn't to be hit while in your custody. You're Ranphoros' second in command, or what?"

Hugo chuckled.

"I really don't see what's so funny," said Barmond.

"You're like a hissy kitten, sometimes. I think it's cute."

" _What?_ "

"Of course you do. You're just finding things to pick on just because you want to pick on me at this point but I can't even get mad at you."

Hearing that annoyed Barmond more than it should. Couldn't he get Hugo to frown back, even once? Why was he always grinning?

"Let's just get done with it," said Barmond.

"Oh, right. Of course you would be in a hurry to drink."

"What is that supposed to mean? I'm not that hungry, I just want to get this done with."

Hugo smiled but didn't answer.

"I am not. No need to look at me like that, I'm only doing this because you're forcing me," said Barmond. "So, are you going to give me your arm, like last time?"

"Actually, I was thinking that we could sit on the bed so that you might reach my shoulder."

"I can reach your shoulder when standing." Barmond glanced at the bed. The large bed. Hugo probably invited plenty of succubus back here. He didn't really want to think of Hugo getting naked and freaky in it. "No need for the bed."

"Maybe you can reach it, _if_ I lean down."

Barmond would have protested some more if he would have listened to his heart, but his head was telling him not to pick fights he couldn't win. That was Hugo's fault, for being so damn tall. Couldn't he be normal, for once?

"Bed it is," said Hugo.

He grabbed him by the shoulder and guided him to its edge. Barmond sat first, so he clearly felt the mattress shift when Hugo did as well, especially as he started to slide towards him ever so slightly. Barmond scooted away.

He was stopped by Hugo's hand behind his head. That made him look up, at the other, at him that was baring his collar bone for him. And that smile on his face. Oh, Hugo had got him, he had got him _exactly_ where he wanted him to be. He was being preyed on all over again. He was the one that was about to feed on Hugo, yet it didn't feel like it.

Barmond would have been lying if he had said that he wanted to leave, so he said nothing.

"I know it's good," said Hugo. His voice was soft. So soft. Barmond had never wanted to lean into a voice before. He wanted to now. "You're so tense. Relax. Just take it."

His heart was beating strongly in his chest. The sounds of the other werewolves, out in the main room, seemed so far away. Without realizing that he was doing it, Barmond was leaning it, drawn in by the steady pressure on the back of his head... and that strength. He wanted to taste it. Again.

His nose pressed against Hugo's skin. Instinctually, his hand went to the other's hip, grabbing it to support himself. He felt dizzy. And hungry. Had he always been so hungry? Maybe this wasn't the right word-- craving.

He craved Hugo.

He kissed the spot on his skin, once lightly, a second time a little more insistently. His fangs slipped out of his gum, so smoothly Barmond had to shudder in pleasure. He was scooting again, this time closer to the heat that radiated from Hugo.

Barmond bit down, sinking his fangs in firm, warm flesh. He muffled a moan. He still had the dignity to do so.

He did moan when he got that first taste on his tongue; it was divine. Hugo rubbed the back of his head as he savoured. Barmond was lost then, utterly and completely. He surrendered to the sensations, to the feeling of Hugo against him, so much stronger, so much bigger than him. Barmond could feel his heartbeat against his chest, he had come closer enough that he was flush against him.

He suddenly remembered he wasn't supposed to enjoy this.

A part of him, a powerfully animalistic part, growled in protest. All it wanted - all Barmond really wanted - was to lose himself some more in the sensation, the taste, the other's attention, but that was a lost battle from the start. Barmond's mind was stronger this time.

He pulled his fangs out and licked the wound clean. But then the taste _exploded_ on his tongue, the taste of the last two drops he was taking for himself-- Before he knew it, his lips were all pressed against Hugo's neck, kissing him there - much like he had kissed his shoulder before biting it.

"Hey, hey there-- That's enough," said Hugo.

His voice was firm but he wasn't mad, he was issuing a simple order, one that Barmond followed. Hugo was still caressing him on the back of his head as he did so and that kept him in that strange headspace where everything was warm and fuzzy.

"There, there," cooed Hugo. "That felt good, right? You needed that. A bit of tenderness."

No, no, he didn't want it. He didn't want to want it. Barmond pulled back, as he knew how to do, as he always did after he had bitten someone.

"How was that?" asked Hugo.

He stroked him on the cheek, with that warm hand of his. Barmond turned his head, escaping the contact. His mind was starting to clear. Damn instincts. Damn... whatever that was. Uncontrollable. Evil.

"We're done," said Barmond.

"Bar--"

Barmond stood up, interrupting him, escaping the reach of his arms. He walked out of that damn room, away from its damn owner, and slammed the door behind him.


	19. The Tale

Barmond had specifically asked Yoven not to act as a servant, but Yoven did it anyway. By the very next night, he was already taking care of cleaning their shared living space, having found a broom. Barmond thought the place to be clean enough, Yoven insisted that it could be better. But it was when he mentioned how soothing he found the repetitive activity that Barmond gave up on convincing him. Yoven had served a master his entire life. More than just a task, cleaning was probably a much-needed shred of normalcy when his entire world had been turned upside down.

With that done, unsure if he was welcome to roam the halls when dinner had been brought to Yoven in his chambers, Barmond sat down with his ropes and supplies. He sharpened his knives - Yoven was quite surprised to learn that he always carried three of them on him at all time, just in case.

"What for?" asked Yoven.

"You never know," Barmond answered, putting down his whetstone. "My life has always been a dangerous one-- Well, maybe not always. But it's been such a long time ago that it seems so, to me."

"It's really not easy to be a vampire, I suppose."

"Surprisingly, that wasn't the most dangerous. I was a vampire hunter before, you know?"

"A hunter?" Yoven's eyes became round. Without his beard and his hair, he looked thinner, frailer. But his hazel eyes also looked a lot bigger, sucking in the world around them. "There are people out there that hunt vampire?"

"Just like there are some that hunt undead, incubus, or elementals. Although the lasts ones are, most of the time, in for the money rather than for a nobler cause, as elementals are mostly neutral beings."

"Why did you become a hunter?"

Barmond looked at Yoven, considering whether or not he should answer. The wound was an old one yet it never closed completely, making it a sore subject.

"Let us just say that my family forced me." Barmond leaned back against his chair as he told the story. "It was what was most convenient at the time for them. I joined them when I was barely a man, at the age of sixteen, and they didn't give me three years before I was but another body in their hall of the dead. When a new hunter commits to the guild, it's usually out of devotion for a greater cause. A bit like how a monk joins a monastery. I never had such a conviction."

"But you survived."

"Yes, I did. Looking back, I realize that it was always the fanatics that died first in pointless missions. If I spotted a vampire that wasn't causing too much trouble, I left them alone. Being a hunter is not like being a soldier, running off to fight every single enemy he encounters. I saw myself a bit more as an artisan; a table maker doesn't go around making tables out of every damn tree he spies, but when he does make a table, it better be the best he can make."

Yoven gave him that big-eyed empty look that screamed: "I didn't get the metaphor."

"What I am trying to say," continued Barmond, "is that if you want to kill a vampire, there are tools you need to use and skills you need to master, and I'm not talking about weapons and how to use them. You need to track down their retreat, their servants, their favourite feeding spots and know what powers they have and don't have. That can take months."

"Oh."

"Indeed. Of all the hunters, the vampire hunters are among the most specialized and with the most dangerous preys... if a vampire can ever be called a prey from a human's perspective."

"How did you become a vampire, then? Were you turned by force?"

"By force? No, no vampire in their right mind would turn a hunter into one of their own, not unless they have a lot to gain from it. I just so happen to stumble across the right bargaining chip. I was tracking a dangerous target, a vampire called Doe-Eyed Aurora, with a team of other hunters... except that she realized that she was being tracked because of a mistake by our rookie. Yet, instead of attacking us as we expected her to, she fled. I would have never taken the decision our team leader took, which was to pursue, although I understand that throwing month's worth of work to the wind because of a mistake would have been foolish. We pursued. And then, hoping to take her by surprise, we attacked her.

Except that... it wasn't her." Barmond sighed. "She had thrown us of her trail by leading us to another vampire, using the opportunity to disappear. We only realized as we were already in combat.

And, as I had predicted, my entire team was wiped off, save for me. It was only by an incredible stroke of luck that this vampire overlooked me, and I struck him from behind with an arrow through the heart. That paralyses a vampire, although it doesn't kill it."

Yoven, enraptured by the tale, pulled a chair to sit near Barmond.

"Except that he was part of a very specific and rare bloodline, famous for its ability to be able to talk while staked. The moment he opened his mouth to beg for his unlife, I knew that he was Lazarev, firstborn to the vampire lord Balthazar of the Sleeping Beauty line. In other words, a priceless hostage. And a vampire that had never killed a single human in his life, none that the guild knew of at least.

I was faced with a dilemma. He had killed all of my team, but it was out of legitime defence. And I felt as if I had an opportunity there, one that I might regret if wasted. Freeing him when he had murdered my friends in front of my very eyes was above my ability to forgive. So... I gave in to what hunters refer to the blood envy."

"What is that?"

"The gravest sin a hunter can commit... according to the guild masters. Simply put, the desire a hunter can have of becoming a vampire him or herself. We struggle to put a scratch on them. Every day of our lives is spent praying that our preys won't become our own hunters tomorrow. It's the easiest of temptations to envy their immortality and powers for ourselves. And I knew just how I could get it.

I took him and hid him in a coffin. The trip that followed was the riskiest of my life. I was scared that Balthazar, one of the most dangerous vampires of the continent - if not the most dangerous - would find me and kill me. But there was also the matter of hiding Lazarev from other humans, that they might not see me with a literal talking corpse or that he might not trick them into pulling the arrow from his heart. And there was the matter that the guild would investigate the disappearance of some of her most eminent hunters.

I had to cut off his tongue and pile rags upon rags on his mouth to muffle any scream. Then I had to make a box out of wood planks in which I sealed him. That would protect him for the day. And then I had a coffin made for him, posing as a grieving father that was burying his son. I moved him from the box to the coffin during the day, as he was stiff and lifeless as a corpse, then had him carried away to be buried in a small, remote village I had used as a hiding place before. He was buried in a cemetery under a fake name - mine."

"Alive?"

"Yes. But hopefully not for long, because the next thing I did was approach another vampire lord. First through letters, then we agreed to meet in person. I made him understand what I was offering him and I made him conclude a pact with me: a child for a child. He was to make me his first-turned vampire and, technically speaking, the heir to his clan."

"Heir-- as in, you're some sort of vampire noble as well?"

"I am not, not really, but that will come soon. I brought him to the place where Lazarev was buried and he took him out of the earth. And then he killed him."

"What?" whispered Yoven, horrified. "But wasn't-- Lazarev was bound and couldn't move, right?"

Barmond nodded. "I didn't want him to die, but I stood aside and said nothing. And then he made me a vampire, which is what I wanted. But, instead of making me a full-blooded vampire, with all the same powers than him and all the abilities of a true vampire, he only gave me a little bit of his blood, enough so that I could come back to life. So now I am a vampire, but a lesser one, a weak one. You'd call me a half-blood."

"Oh... But aren't you strong?"

"Stronger than a human at least. There are some things that I can do that vampires cannot, and there are many things that a vampire can do that I wouldn't even dream of accomplishing." Barmond sighed. "But at least that means that I don't have to drink quite as much. That, at least, is a positive for you."

"I'd rather you be happy."

Barmond smiled. "You don't know what you are talking about. Being locked in the same room with a full-blooded vampire can be a terrifying experience. And besides, who said that I couldn't be happy as I am now?"

"I don't think that you look very happy. No offence but..."

"Well, there has indeed been a lot going on recently that has taken its toll, but that's mostly due to other people." Barmond groaned. "Other people that are called Hugo."

"Mister Rocher?"

"The mutt himself."

"Did something happen last night?"

"Last night?"

Images of recent events flashed in front of Barmond's eyes. The feeling of the mattress dipping under Hugo's weight, the taste of his delicious blood, the sound of his voice in his ears. His large hands had been so warm and soft when they touched Barmond. Like slipping in a warm bath.

"Urg. I don't really want to talk about it," said Barmond. "He was particularly obnoxious."

"It's a shame he's so mean to you," said Yoven. "He seems really nice."

"You're the nice one, Yoven. Don't let him fool you. He's smug and arrogant."

There was a knock at the door and the man let himself in without expecting any answers. Barmond threw him a glare as he stood up. He had never seen this man before, but he wasn't patient with people that couldn't respect his privacy.

"Yes?" he said.

"Lord Ranphoros wishes to see you," he said.

Barmond nodded and started to tidy up his knives. One in his boot, one in his sleeve--

"Sir," said the man, "you should leave the knives here."

"Make me."

He hesitated, looked at Yoven as if he was going to help, then back at Barmond. The latter picked up the last knife and hid it in the inner part of his vest while looking at him straight in the eye.

"I'm warning you," said the man, "I got my eyes on you."

"Please don't let me out of your sight."

Barmond walked to the door, right past the man and into the hallway. It felt good to be able to abuse the mystical fear of vampires sometimes. That was one of the things he had envied them when he was a hunter and that he never got to taste.

The man quickly followed after him, not one to let himself be left behind. Barmond already knew the way, but he kept insisting about being the one walking in front. Barmond took it as a challenge. He could walk very fast if he wanted to.

He stopped right in his tracks when a certain little succubus lady hopped out of a doorway, throwing herself in his path. At least she wore an opaque dress this time, which wasn't much when it was so tight.

Oh no.

"Oh, _hello_ Barmond," said Maggie. Never had Barmond seen whiter teeth. "Fancy meeting you here, by complete coincidence too! What a wonderful night, right?"

"Lady Maggel," said Barmond.

That was awkward. Last time they had seen each other, Barmond had been stabbed by a gargoyle as he tried to escape her. She didn't seem to be holding any grudge for that, judging by her superb smile.

"I'm so glad to see you back among us," she said. "How have you been? Are you all settled in now? Have you visited the underground? I would love to take you for a tour, you know." She leaned in and her expression gained something more naughty. "There are all sort of... unexplored _nooks_ and _crannies_ you have yet to explore. As in _my_ nooks and crannies, in case it's not clear. Want to come to my room?"

"Oh-- that's very forward of you, Lady--"

"Maggie! I already told you to call me Maggie."

"Maggie. But I am afraid that it's not the best idea--"

"It is! My room is very comfortable, you'll see. Unless you'd like for us to do it in the feast hall? Usually, newcomers need to be eased into doing it in public, but if you're comfortable with that we can do it in front of the others. As long as Jessica only watched, she already had her share. It's right this way!"

She grabbed his arm and started to pull him along. Barmond had to use a little blood to resist the strength of her grip. The man that was with Barmond was just standing there, glaring, obviously jealous of the attention Barmond was receiving from a big-titted snack of a woman. As if he wouldn't trade their situations in a heartbeat!

"Maggie-- Now's not the time-- Your father wishes to see me," said Barmond.

"Him _too_?" she cried, indignant. "First Hugo, then _him--_ He doesn't even sleep with anyone anymore! He'll probably have Hugo do you in front of him _again_ \--"

"What? Do me? What--"

"And _then_ he dares tell me not to get involved with you when everyone else seems to be getting a piece of you--"

"Maggie, what are you--"

"But you prefer me, Barmond, right? I'll make you feel so good you'll _love_ me. I promise I'm so much better than Jessica at this, and then you can move in with me--"

"What is happening here?"

That wasn't Barmond's voice, so that shut up Maggie properly. From behind Barmond came another succubus, one with magenta skin a few shades darker than Maggie's, with black hair, swift wings and a tail with a puff of feathers at the end. She carried herself with authority. Barmond was sure he had already seen her face somewhere.

"Please step away from lady Maggel, vampire," she said.

Maggie let out of Barmond's arm, letting him go.

"Good," said the newcomer succubus. "Barmond, right? Please do keep in mind the warning Ranphoros issued you, or else. Maggie, come. Didn't you have a dress fitting with Marienna?"

"But Rosa--"

"No buts. Come."

The woman gently took her arm, prying Maggie even further away from her prey. She sent one last glance at Barmond - well, more of a glare - and where he had first seen her suddenly struck him: she was the succubus he had seen at Themel's shop yesterday. She also looked like Maggie, a Maggie with a longer face and sharper eyes. Were they related?

Maggie sent Barmond the most heart-wrenching look. One would have believed that her favourite toy was being taken away from her. But she was taken away regardless, disappearing through another doorway.

"Let's go, then," said the man that was bringing Barmond.

They did not linger long after that. They moved through the galleries until they were once more standing in front of the door full of erotic paintings. The man knocked, then let Barmond in without expecting an answer. Barmond quickly chased Maggie out of his mind to focus on the situation at hand.

It was a rather large situation: Hugo was present.

Barmond made a point of ignoring him, giving a brief bow to Ranphoros only. The incubus was seated on the edge of his chair, his legs crossed, a glass of gin already in hand.

"Took you long enough," said Ranphoros. "I trust that you've found your living quarters to your liking?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good, good. How about your retainer? Have you bitten him?"

"That situation had been taken care of," said Hugo - before Barmond could react.

The latter made note of how nothing of the arrangement between him and Hugo was not mentioned by the latter. He suddenly had the nagging suspicion that the whole deal might have been the werewolf's idea all along, as opposed to an alternative proposed by Ranphoros himself. What game was that mutt playing now?

"Excellent. Now, I can finally come to the matter at hand," said Ranphoros. "Sadly, you'll be leaving very soon - as soon as you arrived, it seems - but that can't be helped. It has come to my attention that you might be particularly suited for a job that's been on my hands for a while now."

"I'm at your service."

"Good." Ranphoros laid his empty glass on the table next to his seat and leaned forward. "As I mentioned before, we have been having some trouble outside of town with a gang of imps that have been terrifying a human village. I usually wouldn't take care of this affair, but the bishop had called in a favour to have me look into it after his own men were proven ineffective. Turns out that affair seems a bit more complicated than it seems, even for us. Hugo?"

"It's a colony of harpy imps," said Hugo, "meaning that they are a lot larger than common imp that you might find haunting your attics. They are usually very shy and live in families over tribes but, in this case, they seem to have gathered into a rather large and organised group, a group that has been raiding nearby villages for supplies... and people."

"People?" said Barmond.

"I also thought that it was highly unusual, but there were witnesses and disappearances that seem to coincide with their activity. Obviously, they seem to target children and small women, seeing as anything larger might be difficult for even a group of them to carry away."

"The fact of the matter is that this behaviour is highly unusual," said Ranphros. "We have the strength to crush them, but that would be rash in case there would be more to it. That's where you come in, Rotberg."

"I'm not specialized in imps."

Ranphoros nodded, then leaned back in his chair. He seemed to be considering Barmond carefully.

"There is more to this mission than what meets the eye, Rotberg," he said. "Not everyone around the nest is happy to see you, let alone glad to have you in those walls. As their leader, I must find a compromise while proving that your benefits outweigh your faults. The fact that you'll be away while doing so will ease it further. As you might have noticed from the composition of our nest, we are fairly welcoming when it comes to accepting newcomers in our rank, except for vampires. The alternative to this mission is being thrown out."

"I would have accepted regardless of whether I needed some good rep, my lord," said Barmond. "I was simply making an observation."

"That is good to hear. Then you'll be leaving tonight, with Hugo. You have an hour to get ready."

Barmond, for the first time since he had entered the room, sent Hugo a look. The latter offered him an obnoxiously warm smile.

"Very well, my lord," said Barmond.


	20. The Inn

Lamare was the biggest village around, which wasn't saying much about its size, really. At least there was an inn, the _Duke's Lovenest_ , that also doubled as a tavern - that was all Barmond could ask for, a place to spend the day quietly. Right now, with the sun high in the sky (albeit hidden behind some rain clouds), the moment seemed like an ideal one to vanish indoors.

"We would like book a room," said Barmond to the innkeeper.

"For how long will that be?" she answered.

"A week, probably. I might extend it."

He heard Yoven yawn behind him. He was tired too. After having left Gardel very early this morning and having travelled in an open chariot the whole way, he had reason enough to be tired.

"A week? Very well. But erm..." She looked between Barmond and Yoven, before adding, "are you two together?"

"Yes," said Barmond. "We'll be taking a room for two."

She shrugged. "I only got one room free. The good news is that it's a room for two. The bad news is that it's got one bed. Will that be okay for you? The bed's large enough for the two of you to not bother each other too much during the night."

"What do you mean, you only have one room free?" asked Barmond. "Isn't this inn large enough?"

"It usually _would be_ ," she said, "but, erm... Well, you'll have some company. There is a troupe of performers in town. Their troupe master is a sweetheart, really, the kindest and most talented man I've seen in a while." She sighed longingly. "Nothing like my brute of a husband. I love him, but he could really take a page from Vanja's book."

"If he is so sweet and kind," said Barmond, a little exasperated that she was wasting his time bragging about the patron of hers that had stolen _his_ room, "then we can probably go find him and negotiate some sort of arrangement with him."

"I'm fine with sharing a bed, Barmond," said Yoven. "I don't move much in my sleep, and you... well, you don't _at all_."

"Fair," said Barmond. "Well then, we'll be taking that room. What sort of performer is this Vanja?"

"Oh, he's _very_ talented. He plays in the common room during the evenings, but he also performs public plays with his troupe, composes poetry, sings, dances..."

"As long as he does not perform in here during the day," said Barmond. "I'll be working at night, so I'll be needing all the rest I can get."

"Oh, sometimes he gives private lessons in his room, but I'm sure that if you ask him he'll move them elsewhere."

"That is good to hear."

Barmond paid to rent the room for a week before they were brought upstairs by the innkeeper. She told them about how things went at the inn - when was dinner and breakfast, the general etiquette, and that also she locked the door at a certain time and opened it again when she got up early in the morning. Barmond made note of all the relevant information.

"I'll be going to bed," he told Yoven when she had left. "I suppose that you will as well?"

"Yes," said Yoven.

He took out the beret that had been given to him to hide the lack of hair and placed it on the coat hanger. His new clothes were both too big and too small, having been designed for a shorter and stockier frame than his, but they were serviceable. When his own change would be done, they would be sent in from Gardel.

The room was big enough for two, as she had promised. The bed was standing smack in the centre of it, nagging him. Barmond usually would have not cared about sharing a bed beyond who stole the blanket, but... It was with Yoven. A human with warm blood, yes, but not only. In the short while they had gotten know each other, they were already starting to realize that they were getting along very well. There was something about the way Yoven just was that drew the best side of Barmond out and, in turn, Yoven seemed to have gotten over his fear of vampires - for now - and was always interested in what Barmond had to say. This match might have been forced on them but it was turning out quite well already.

The problem was that Barmond didn't want to break that by being careless, by coming too close. Yoven remained, at the end of the day, a hot-blooded person, a being that was incredibly attractive to the darker side of Barmond. He had yet to regain the mass he had lost, but already were the contours of his body haunting Barmond when he closed his eyes to rest. He wanted to nestle against Yoven's warmth, hold him tight and breath in his earthy, male smell, and just be _held_ back. He wanted to simply exist near him, watch him move and talk about little nothings, knowing that later in the dark they would come together, closer than what a servant and a master should. He wanted intimacy, he wanted it so bad that he was afraid that he might scare off the man he was growing so quickly attached to.

That was why he did his best to maintain some sort of physical distance between him and Yoven at all time. It was his way of making sure that he could hide his own thoughts, at least until Yoven had grown into the idea of being a red retainer and found his balance. If they shared a bed... who knew what could happen when they were so close to one another during their most vulnerable times.

"Let's push the bed away from the window," said Barmond to Yoven.

"Oh-- So that the light-- Uh-hu. That's smart."

So that is what they did, even if Barmond did tap in his blood reserve just to spare the recovering Yoven most of the burden. The bed was pushed against the furthest wall from the window, and Barmond's sleeping spot became quite clear from thereon.

"Would you really burn if you were exposed to sunlight?" asked Yoven as he pulled the curtains shut.

"In direct sunlight? Yes, but a lot slower than a full-blooded vampire," answered Barmond. "First, I'll look like I caught a nasty sunburn, and then I'll start smoking. Really, it's slow and painful, but I could survive it."

"Oh dear, that sounds so painful."

"Indeed." Barmond shrugged. "And so I avoid it."

Yoven made sure that the curtains were extra-well closed.

Barmond took out his pants and went to lay down. He was burning through his blood reserve to remain awake, he really didn't want t waste a moment longer talking. Yoven came to join him shortly after.

Barmond was right about to fall into his daytime lethargy when Yoven spoke up.

"You know, if we find a large enough piece of cloth, I can build some sort of structure in the middle of the room to make extra sure that no light comes through."

"That sounds like a lot of work."

"Or we could get a tent, that we put on the bed. I wouldn't mind it too much."

"Yoven, I'll be fine. The sun won't reach me here."

"All right..."

Barmond thought that this was going to be the last of it. He was wrong. Yoven stayed still for a few minutes, then got up on an elbow and started to fret with the blanket - Barmond's side of it - to try and place it over Barmond's head.

"Yoven--"

"If we arrange it some way so that you can breathe, it will be fine," said Yoven. "Like that, we're extra sure--"

"Yoven, if you keep this up I swear I'm going to find that Vanja myself and _threaten_ him into giving us a room with two seperate beds."

"I'm sorry!"

"That's not--" Great. Now he had been mean to Yoven. He was already regretting it. "Listen, I understand your concern, and we can look into tonight, but right now--"

He was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Barmond groaned and crawled out of the bed quickly to put his pants back on. He realized that it was worse than he thought when he opened the door: it was Hugo.

"Hello there," said Hugo.

"Why are you here?" asked Barmond.

"You ran off from the carriage before I could say goodbye. I'm checking if you're well lodged."

Hugo walked right past Barmond, ignoring the fact that he had not been invited in. He stopped short in his tracks when he saw the double bed - and the Yoven that was still in it, sitting up.

"Sorry, mister Rocher, I didn't mean to be rude," said the latter. "We were both very tired."

"Why did you take the honeymoon room?" asked Hugo with a frown.

"Fuck off, Hugo," said Barmond. "There was no other room available."

"Couldn't you try to negotiate with the other clients to get one where you have two beds?"

"It's fine like that," said Yoven. "We don't mind, and we didn't want to disturb the others anyway."

Barmond, realizing that Hugo wasn't going to leave right away, closed the door with a groan.

"You know, if you would have waited a little," said Hugo, "I would have shown you our camp in the outskirts. We rented a field from the local lord to put our tents and we just finished settling down. There would have been a tent for you two. Even _separate_ tents for you two."

"Oh! If you have an extra tent, can we borrow it--"

"Yoven," said Barmond, "we are not planting a tent in our bed."

"I know it would be uncomfortable, but I was thinking of just using the tarp and then--"

"You know," interrupted Hugo, "our tents are also very good at not letting any sunlight in, more than this room with just a curtain."

"I am _not_ going to go to your camp, Hugo."

"What's wrong with it?"

"I already paid for this room, I'm not leaving to go to a camp full of yapping puppies staring at me like a drawing from a bestiary. _Especially_ if you're there."

"What do you mean, especially if I'm there? I can control the 'puppies', as you call them. They'll be used to you in no time if only you spent more time around them."

"Maybe, but that would mean spending time around you."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Very."

Hugo chuckled.

"What again?" asked Barmond.

"Is that how it is?"

"Yes. That's exactly how it is."

"You got some nerves to say that, you know." Hugo crossed his arms, looking like the smuggest piece of shit Barmond had ever seen. "Especially after what happened last night."

"What happened last night?" asked Yoven.

" _You_ got some nerves yourself!" spat Barmond. "You know very well you used your trick on me again. I knew you were the moment I entered your room and, surprise _surprise_ , you did!"

"Did I now?" said Hugo.

"You did!"

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Did what?" asked Yoven, looking distressed.

"Of course I keep telling myself that," said Barmond, "because that's what happened!"

"No amount of denying it will change it."

"Get out!" cried Barmond. "Out, out of this room right now."

Hugo laughed, but he did move towards the door. Barmond went to open it for him, and, with one firm push, got the hollering werewolf in the hallway.

"Have a good day, mister Rocher!" said Yoven right before Barmond slammed the door.

Barmond leaned against the door with a sigh, closing his eyes until he had calmed his nerves. He could hear Hugo walking down the hallway, still chuckling, and listened to that until he was certain that he was gone for good.

"What happened last night?" asked Yoven.

Barmond locked the door.

"Can I know?" insisted Yoven.

"I'm fine," said Barmond. "Nothing happened. He's just making a big deal out of it to be an ass."

There were suddenly warm arms around him, drawing him into a soft embrace. Yoven's chest was hot against Barmond's back. The latter turned his head and was met with a worried expression on his retainer's face.

"You won't have to go through that again," he said. "I want to help."

Yoven smelled so nice, and the way he held Barmond was just right, not too tight and not too loose. More than just hearing it, Barmond could feel the quick beat of his heart.

Danger. Barmond escaped the other's embrace, moving towards the bed instinctually.

"I can take care of myself," said Barmond. "You should look out for yourself first. You're a human. It's never good for a human to get caught up in the crossfire between a vampire and a werewolf."

"Yes but-- I know I can't do much, but I want to help. I _can_ help."

"Why?" Barmond turned around fully to confront Yoven. "A few hours ago, you were scared of me."

"Because I want to," quietly answered Yoven. "I got nothing to lose."

There was silence as they watched each other from their corner of the room. Eventually, Barmond sighed deeply and walked over, giving up.

"Come here," he said.

He hugged Yoven and Yoven leaned into his embrace with a sigh, relaxing until he was vulnerable in a vampire's arms. It... did feel nice, thought Barmond. Far from being a burden, the other's weight was grounding. His closeness wasn't as bad as Barmond thought it would be when Yoven seemed so trusting. Barmond didn't even feel that urged to bite by his monstrous instincts, as if something about the human soothed them.

"Let me be the one taking care of you, all right?" said Barmond.

"Only if you take care of yourself."

Barmond chuckled a little. Yoven was a little more stubborn than what Barmond had given him credit for but he could live with that.

"Promise?" asked Yoven.

"I promise. Now can we go to rest? We're both tired." Barmond pulled away so that he could look at Yoven's face as he spoke. "Look at me, getting so soft that I actually hug you. And you look like you can barely stand.

Yoven nodded.

Barmond didn't sleep facing the wall, but facing Yoven. And Yoven did the same.


	21. The Denial

"So... that's the place?" whispered Barmond, looking up at the cliff face.

Patricia nodded.

Barmond could see why a large colony of imps would choose to establish themselves in the region. The terrain, with all its sharp protrusions, steep slopes, and dense forest, was difficult to cross when travelling on foot. It was easy for a flying creature to shake off a running creature. Despite that, the werewolves had successfully tracked them down and found their main lair, a cliff within walking distance of Lamare.

How it looked like much at night. The imps that they were dealing with, called harpy imps, were diurnal creature through and through. From where they were standing, crouched in the bushes of the forest, there was no activity anywhere near the gaping holes in the cliff. Barmond could have passed in front of the place a dozen time and never guess that they were there.

He supposed that it might be something else entirely during the day but that didn't concern him.

"Where do they get their water?" he whispered.

"Their water?" replied Patricia. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just thinking."

There was no point in explaining to her if she didn't know why he was asking. Every word they uttered was a word that could be heard by an insomniac imp or, worse yet, a sentry they had assigned to the job. Their level of intelligence was, as far as Barmond knew, comparable to the one of those crows that could repeat some human words. To think that they might be organised enough that they might anticipate a nocturnal threat was chilling.

At least he had managed to find himself a guide other than stupid Hugo, meaning he could think about the problem in peace. He was alone with Patricia now, in the bushes. It was by sheer luck that he had found her as he slipped through the back door to avoid the agitation of the main room. She had been chilling in the courtyard, cooling off as she chewed some strange herbs that died her teeth red. She had told him something about an oath she had just taken to never become drunk again. He didn't really believe her but it wasn't his problem. After a short back and forth, she had agreed to show him the way to the imps' lair.

She had arrived with them - Hugo, Yoven and Barmond - which meant that she had not had the time to come there, but she had spoken something about traces left behind by the ones of her pack that had come before her. Something about footprints in what she called a 'lunar plane'. From the way she casually mentioned it, she didn't seem to realize that Barmond had no idea what she was talking about. He made note of the information and followed her regardless.

And here they were.

A part of him didn't really like her, remembering the lovely bolt she had gifted him. Another was just extremely smug that he had bypassed Hugo's surveillance. On top of that, she was a lot less obnoxious than he was, which was a huge plus in Barmond's book. Maybe he could even grow to like her, someday. Of all the werewolves, she was the one that seemed the least scared of him.

"I think that you can go back," said Barmond to her. "I'm perfectly capable of finding my way."

"Hmm." She looked up, at the cliff, sniffing the air. She seemed a little hesitant. "You'll be okay?"

"Yes. It's getting late. You should go get some rest."

She nodded as she repressed a yawn. Moments later, she was scooting through the vegetation without making a sound. It was more than just an ability to move quietly, Barmond realized as he watched her. She seemed-- well, from the way the leaves moved through her ever-so-slightly, she looked like a ghost Barmond had once spotted in some haunted ruins. Was that a werewolf power? He didn't know much about them but he had always heard that one never knew when they were sneaking up on their prey before it was too late.

Once she was out of his sight, he too started to move.

He was interested in a certain pile near one of the lowest openings, a pile that was half-sunken into the earth. The closer he got to it, the stronger it smelled: it was their trash. Considering how large the colony way, he was still surprised by how relatively small it was. That was probably a sign that they had only moved in recently.

Barmond scrunched up his nose. Once again, he wished for the ability to stop his breathing entirely. The main component of the pile was, to put it lightly, shit, and it didn't smell great. But regardless, Barmond grabbed a stick and started to poke around the pile, checking what was in it. He found quite a few animal bones in there, some that had even been gnawed on seeing that there were teeth marks on them. The most interesting item, the one that he carefully pulled his way, seemed to be some piece of pottery but, upon further inspection, it was too finely made to be anything other than stolen from humans.

As he inspected the trash pile, of course, he kept an eye and an ear on what was happening above his head and around him. He would even use some blood to sharpen his hearing momentarily when he doubted what might be coming.

No one came.

Having found what he was looking for - or not - he moved back to the cover of the trees. He wouldn't pretend as if he was as discreet as Patricia as he moved through the bushes, but he had all night to get away if he had to. If he had to crawl back step by step the whole way just to make sure that he wasn't caught, he would do it. He might not know anything about imps but he knew that a mission to collect information served nothing if the other was aware that you had collected said information.

He still didn't hear Hugo coming.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. And even if the touch was light, friendly even, he only realized that it was so after the facts. His knife was in his hand when he turned around he was a hair away from striking Hugo. They both froze.

"You rihnohorn," hissed Barmond.

Hugo didn't laugh this time. He looked up at something between the trees and, before Barmond could look too, he grabbed him tight. For the second time, Barmond almost stabbed him, but then realized that everything around him had taken on a silver edge. He froze.

"It's awake," whispered Hugo.

Barmond looked in the direction Hugo was pointing. He spotted a shadow between the leaves, something that was gliding above the canopy. Barmond couldn't quite distinguish was, but guessing what it was was easy. That was a harpy imp, one that had left the security of its fort and had gone for a midnight flight. It didn't spot them but it seems to have heard something: it flew over their heads twice more before orienting its course towards the town.

Barmond let out a small sigh of relief before carefully taking in his surroundings once more. That is when he noticed that he was still firmly trapped in Hugo's arms, before the fact that there was still this strange silver glow all around them. He wiggled to try and free himself as soon as possible but it was Hugo that eventually let him go; right as he did, the silver glow faded.

"What was that about?" asked Barmond.

"Isn't it obvious? It was going to spot you."

"Since when have you been following me? How did you find me?"

"I arrived five minutes ago. Patricia is not the only one that can follow a trail on the lunar plane, I literally taught her how to do it."

"So you're here now."

Great. Barmond thought that he was going to have a night of peace, finally, after all the craziness that had been going on lately, but now his personal bully had found him. Couldn't he get lucky about those sort of things for once in his life or was he just cursed?

"How about a 'thank you for hiding me, dear Hugo'?" said Hugo. "It won't burn your tongue."

"Yeah, now that you mention it, what was those strange lights about?" asked Barmond. "Did you do something to me?"

Hugo sighed. "That's because I dragged you on the lunar plane with me to hide you. Not completely, but enough that any sound you might make would be muffled. It's impossible to make you full disappear when you're not trained - or a werewolf."

"How does it work?"

"Can I explain later?" Hugo looked up at the sky. "Did you check everything you wanted to check around here?"

"Not exactly... but I can also come back later."

"Then let's go back."

Barmond was glad, at least, that so far Hugo seemed to want to keep things professional. Maybe there was hope for him, he thought. He knew that he was setting himself up for disappointment. He was always setting himself up for disappointment when he hoped.

They didn't speak much until they had made their ways back to the path - even if calling this meandering thread through the vegetation was pushing it - and Hugo had taken the lead. Barmond, when he wasn't careful not to trip on some root in the dark, sent suspicious glances at Hugo's wide back.

Yet it was him that spoke first.

"The humans were not killed," said Barmond. "Unless those imps keep their bones as trophies in their drawing rooms."

Hugo snorted.

"That's not funny," said Barmond.

"The mental image is," answered Hugo. "So, that was what you were looking for in the pile of shit?"

"You learn a lot from a man's trash. I've found animal bones, but I haven't found any human ones."

"You can tell the difference?"

"I've been trained to do so."

"Ah yes, when you were a human hunter. I didn't know that."

"Have you ever hunted a vampire?"

"In fact, yes." Hugo sent a glance to Barmond over his shoulder. "Don't worry, it was a long time ago, at least a couple of weeks... although I'm wondering if that hunt isn't ongoing."

Barmond stopped in his tracks. Hugo did as well, then turned around.

"Your threats don't scare me," said Barmond.

"Who said that I was threatening you?" asked Hugo.

"Then why are you talking about hunting vampires?"

"Because you asked me? Besides, I usually don't see courting as a hunt, but when the vampire you're trying to land is constantly running away, it's a little difficult not to turn it into a hunt. Not that I am complaining, I've always loved a good chase."

Barmond stared at Hugo's face. He looked like he was serious. Come to think of it, Hugo was single. He _was_ free to court someone if he wished.

"I thought that I was the only vampire near Gardel," said Barmond.

Hugo snorted, then realised that Barmond was absolutely serious.

"Erm, Barmond. I'm talking about you."

"Me?" Beat. "You want to be my friend?"

"... More than a friend."

"A best friend? No way. I don't do best friends."

Hugo broke into a laughing fit. Barmond narrowed his eyes, then crossed his arms and waited for the other to calm down. He wasn't making any sense. At first, he talked as if it would be romantic and mentioned a vampire, but there were no lady vampires that lived near him - unless he was lying. And now he was talking about Barmond, but there was no way he could be talking about courting Barmond. They were both men.

"I'm not talking about being friends," said Hugo. He was a little out of breath. "I mean, I'd like that too, but I'm talking about courting _you_ , Barmond."

"Me?" A realisation suddenly struck Barmond. "Wait... Wait-wait- _wait_ , you're-- you've one of those homosexual people?"

"Sort of."

"You don't look like one."

There was Hugo gone again, laughing as if Barmond had said the funniest of jokes. The latter huffed.

"And anyway," said Barmond, "I'm not a homosexual myself. I like women."

"One doesn't prevent the other, Barmond."

"It does!"

"It does _not_. Every person has something to offer. Who am I to discriminate? And right now I like you most."

"You like me?"

"Who do you think suggested that we recruit you? And why do you think Ranphoros has been sending us on a mission together?"

"You don't like me," said Barmond. He pointed an accusing finger at Hugo. "You can't like me."

"I can't?"

"Well, _no_. Because... you're an ass to me! You've mocked me, and you've bloodblissed me, and then you're constantly trying to... be alone with me..."

By Lilith, Hugo Rocher liked him. Barmond's brain came to a full stop.

"I think you're attractive and smart, Barmond," said Hugo. "You really didn't notice anything?"

"Notice?"

"I mean, there wasn't much to notice when I full-on told you. That was the point, I guess, but I probably wasn't explicit enough." Hugo chuckled, talking to himself, "Don't look like a homosexual... well, I guess I'm not exactly _that,_ but still."

"You can't like both."

"I can't now?"

"Yeah, it's either... one or the other! Like they are both so different. How can you like both?"

"How can _you_ like both, Barmond?"

"I don't!"

"Oh really? What about last night?"

"Last night doesn't count."

"Come on, Barmond, how long are you going to keep pretending? I know that vampires can technically feed on everyone but I've been with vampires, I can tell when they get sexual about their blood-drinking."

"I'm not getting _sexual_."

"Then why did you kiss my neck? _Three times?_ "

"There's nothing sexual about that!"

"About kissing _my neck_?"

"You're the one making it weird!"

"I didn't kiss you."

"Stop bringing up the kissing!"

"It happened though."

"I don't like you back! That's a final. I'm done."

Barmond really wanted to make that last statement clear. He _had_ to, otherwise, Hugo would never leave him alone again. He walked around the werewolf, cutting through the vegetation - almost tripped on a root - and started walking down the path.

"Where are you going now?" asked Hugo.

"To Lamare."

"Really? We're having a conversation here, Barmond."

"I said I'm done!"

"You can just say that you need some time to process what I said, that's a nicer way of saying it."

"There is no _processing_ of anything. You like me and I _don't_. You can stop following me."

"I'm going back to my pack."

Barmond walked faster, bordering on running.

Hugo lunged forward, catching Barmond at the arm. The latter whipped around and full-on hissed at Hugo, baring his teeth. Hugo growled right back at him.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, body tense as if ready to pounce. It was Hugo that relaxed first.

"Don't run in front of a werewolf."

"Control yourself then, you furry gargoyle."

Hugo chuckled. "I could tell you the same thing."

"I am in perfect control of myself."

"You have no ideas how much I want to make you swallow those words, Barmond," said Hugo. "You're not. You're running away from me."

"I'm going home." Barmond pulled on his arm. "Let me go."

Hugo freed him, putting his hands in the air to show that he wasn't a threat.

"Good. Have a good night," Barmond spat.

He turned in the direction of the village, walking quickly. He didn't have all night. He wanted to explore Lamare, and maybe spend some time making sure that Yoven had everything he could need. He didn't need some stupid werewolf wasting his time with outlandish claims.

"You think about it, Barmond," said Hugo, that was thankfully staying behind. "We'll have another talk."

No, no they won't, thought Barmond. Never again.


	22. The Lesson

Full-blooded vampires fell in an unshakable lethargy during the day, that was a fact. During his time as a vampire hunter, Barmond had used that vulnerable time to put an end to vampires after their most troublesome servants and protectors had been dealt with.

It was a little different for half-blooded. As they were vampires that had not fully transformed into a vampire, their daytime lethargy still retained some elements of what had once been their mortal sleep. This meant that it could be disturbed and, if there was any sort of disturbances, Barmond could awake and be ready for action.

Disturbances like his ears being torn apart by a hazardous assemblage of broken notes.

Barmond sat up in the bed. A single glance to his right told him that Yoven was still blissfully lost in Morpheus' tender embrace and that it was daytime. Someone way playing the fiddle on their floor. Sometimes, a melody could almost come through, but then it would crash horribly.

He didn't have the heart to wake up Yoven when he seemed so content. In fact, Barmond was shocked to see that he was willing to sleep in the same bed as a vampire, literally one of humanity's deadliest enemy. Not many would be this brave, yet Yoven didn't seem to have any trouble with it. Not that Barmond would hurt him.

His pants were waiting for him on the dresser. He was out the door as quietly as possible.

It was easy to determine where was the "music" coming from: right across the hallway. No wonder Barmond had woken up. He guessed this was one of the lessons that the innkeeper had referred to when they had checked in, taught by this troupe master. Va... something. Vaja?

He knocked at the door. The only thing that answered him was a particularly gruesome fiddle scream, followed by a parade of equally off-key notes. What sort of lesson was that, instrument torture?

Fearing that it might wake up Yoven, Barmond opened the door. He instantly regretted that decision.

There were two men on one of the beds in the room, the youngest sitting on the lap of the eldest. The first was the one playing, but the second didn't seem very keen on teaching. Not only was he kissing a trail up the other's neck, but his hand was also buried down the unlaced front of his student's breeches. Barmond had the full sideway view of everything that was going on while neither of them seemed to have noticed his presence.

Barmond stopped right in his tracks as his brain processed the sight in front of him. He double-checked. Nope. Unless the teacher was a tall, particularly flat-chested woman, they were certainly both men. He didn't even have to doubt the student's sex when said sex was all but out in the open.

The teacher's hand shifted its grip to focus on the tip of his student's dick and said student barely repressed a moan. But he did drop his archet on the ground.

"Be careful, will you?" purred the teacher in the other's ear. "You need to focus on what you're doing."

"But Vanja--"

"Professor Vanja, my dear."

"Professor-- Your hand--"

"What about it?" Said hand very clearly stroking the dick in its grip as Vanja kept talking. "You consider yourself a good musician, yet you let something like that distract you? Tsk. Weak. Should I really keep you in my troupe? Can I trust you with holding it together during an important presentation?"

"But professor..." He cut himself off with a moan.

"Now now, let's start from the beginning." Vanja pressed his hand between his student's shoulder blades to push him down. "You should pick that up as well."

The student leaned forward, reaching for the archet, yet Vanja kept his ass firmly glued to his crotch so that he could rub against it. He arched his back, his chest slipping through the unbuttoned front of his shirt. He had just enough definition for it to be noticeable and his skin was but a few shades darker than Yoven's.

His student was still grappling for the archet but, right as he did, he looked towards the door. His eyes and Barmond's met.

He screamed in shock and straightened, tearing himself from Vanja's grip like a startled doe. Vanja had to notice Barmond next, and he also immediately stood up from the bed.

"Can't you knock?" asked Vanja.

Barmond didn't know how to tell him that he had but that he had not been answered. He should have left as soon as he understood what was happening but the second he had seen the two of them, he had... frozen. Out of disgust, he told himself, because what else could it be?

"Please, don't tell anyone," said the young man.

"Don't fret," said Vanja - before Barmond could reply. "He will not."

There was a certain weight to the tone of the man that made Barmond pause and _look_ at him - as in really look at him, as if he was seeing him for the first time. Vanja was a gorgeous man, now that he was facing Barmond, the type of beauty that had a universal appeal to him. Full lips, long black lashes, short curly hair, he stood a little taller, wide shoulders a little squarer, and it was like he was filling the whole room with his presence. His eyes drew everything to them like black holes, so much so that Barmond found himself leaning in his direction.

"Close the door," said Vanja in a soft voice.

Barmond took a step forward and closed the door behind him. Vanja also took a step forward, towards him, and then another, and another, until he was within touching distance. He stroked Barmond's cheek.

He was so... enthralling. His eyes-- A being like that, so perfect, was _touching_ him. Barmond shuddered.

"I knew it. I smelled some desire from you," said Vanja. "Look, Clement. He won't say a thing to anyone if he was implicated in it."

"Do we have to? I'm really not into his type. He's scary."

"Sometimes, you have to sleep with the right people to save your skin. I'll make you like it, don't worry about a thing."

Vanja lowered his eyes, redirecting his attention to opening Barmond's shirt. He was at the second button when Barmond suddenly remembered he wasn't supposed-- that he had _never_ liked men.

He slapped Vanja across the face. Not with all of his strength, as he was still half under the other's spell, but that was enough to break it completely. He knew this sort of influence. He had felt it before, several times.

"Incubus," growled Barmond.

"What?" Vanja was holding his red cheek as he stumbled back. "How did you know?"

Clement, the student, screamed again. It was a miracle that no one had come to see what was the cause of all of the ruckus.

"Back!" said Barmond. "Stay off me!"

His hand went for the knife in his sleeve, but the knife in his sleeve was still in his room, where he had left it. He felt stupid. Vanja also looked dumb, standing where he was, holding his cheek with his mouth agape.

"But... how? How could you escape me?" he asked.

"I know a thing or two about you kind."

"A hunter?" gasped Vanja.

Clement gasped too.

"Please, spare me," cried Vanja. He fell to his knees in front of Barmond. "I am young and so harmless, just wandering the world-- Eight men depend on me for their livelihood! Three have children-- You wouldn't let a _child_ starve, would you?" He was starting to cry, his lower lip trembling. "Innocent little children, and the youngest one is but a _baby_ , so small and helpless! Yes, I have sinned, tempting men into fornication, but think of the baby! It has not even said it's first words--"

"I'm not a hunter!" Barmond had to scream so that he could interrupt Vanja's litany.

"You're not? Oh! That's a relief."

Vanja got up and wiped his tears away with his sleeves. One second later, it was as if he had never cried.

"There really was no need for the melodramatics," said Barmond. "Really, all I came to do was to ask you to keep it down. We're sleeping."

"Keep it down? But this is a music lesson."

"And we need our sleep. Both of us."

"Oh, well, I guess I can skip a meal-- I mean, skip a music lesson this one time."

"No-- Every day. We sleep during the day."

"What?" cried Vanja. "But I can't!"

"Look, I don't care what you do in your room, or with who you do it." Barmond sent a pointed glance at Clement. "But keep it down."

"Keep it down? But that's impossible." Vanja dramatically placed a hand on his chest and sighed. "All my life, I've tried to keep it down, but I simply... _cannot_! I must express my feelings, sing to the heavens, dance, and be _free!_ "

"I will personally gag you if you don't," said Barmond.

He regretted it immediately when Vanja seemed to perk up at the suggestion, his eyes full of metaphorical sparkles.

"Or... you could gag yourself," added Barmond.

"Aww..."

Clement, in the background, obviously sighed in relief.

"Who's 'we' anyway?" asked Vanja. "And why do you sleep during the day?"

"That is none of your business."

"What do you mean, none of my business? So you butt into mine without knocking and then you tell me that your business is none of my business? You're in the incubus room now and incubus share _everything_. It goes both ways, honey."

"Even with other incubus?"

Vanja narrowed his eyes. "Everyone but those _bastards_."

"I thought so. I'll be leaving now."

He went to open the door but there was Vanja, leaning against it, stopping him.

"Wait a moment," he said. "I know where you're staying. You have the honeymoon room, right?"

"What-- it's not a _honeymoon_ room, it's just a room."

"That's why you sleep during the day. The night is filled with _passionate fortifications_ \-- How romantic!"

"No!"

"Not romantic? Is this an arranged marriage?"

"I'm not married!"

Vanja just _stopped_. It took him a moment to process that information, for some reason.

"Oh... so it's your secret lover-- Wait, it can't be secret if you're not married," muttered Vanja. "Forbidden romance? Gay affaire?"

"I'm leaving," said Barmond.

He pushed Vanja off the door and finally opened it.

"That was fun!" said Vanja. "Come back again some time."

"Never again," muttered Barmond.

Back in their room, Yoven was sitting up in the bed.

"Did we wake you up?" asked Barmond.

"I was worried," answered Yoven. "There was a lot of shouting."

"I tried to let you sleep by stopping their music lesson, but then things got... complicated. Oh, also, if you see a tall, dark-skinned guy with curly black hair that talks very loudly and that's called Vanja, don't go anywhere near him."

"Why?"

"He's an incubus."

Yoven paled, then nodded. Barmond went to take off his pants and crawl back in the bed.

"Did he... do any sin to you?" asked Yoven. "Tried to do the incubus thing with you? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Paused. Barmond wondered if he should dwell into that discussion now, then decided for it. "You know... Things are a little bit different when it comes to the supernatural world. About that whole sin thing. You know, erm, with _homosexuals_."

"What do you mean?"

"They are... accepted among them."

Yoven gasped. "As in... homosexuals are a supernatural creature too?"

"What? No! It's just something that they do. You know, when they want. I mean, from what they explained to me, it's one or the other. Like, you like men or you like women. And it's from birth."

"But... how do they make babies?"

Barmond rose a brow. "You don't. Not as a vampire, at least."

"Oh."

"A lot of supernatural creatures live very long, as in... very _very_ long. Not just vampires. So you really don't need that many babies for most of them. They don't see it as a bad thing."

"But what about... you know. The _sin_."

"It's not a sin. Not for them... for _us_. I don't do it but I've grown used to it."

"You've already seen _them_? They do things?"

Barmond had a flashback to what had just happened in Vanja's room. "I wish I had not."

"Isn't it disgusting?"

Barmond winced a little.

"I don't know if I can see them kiss," said Yoven. "I never did, but I'm already a little disgusted when it's a man and a woman doing it. So, when it's two men... I don't know. I need to think about it some more."

"You should ask someone other than me about it," said Barmond. "I like women so I can't tell what it's like." Beat. "Maybe Hugo can explain a little better than I do."

"Mister Rocher is a homosexual?"

"Yes... I think. He told me he liked both."

"Both? You can like both?"

"He said he does. I think."

"I'll ask him about it." He stifled a yawn. "You know, I never thought that homosexuals were that bad, back when I was living among humans. They did sin but... it never is too bad, you know? They do it among them. It's not like how God want. I mean... I don't know."

"You should sleep. We'll talk tonight."

"Is Vanja a homosexual?"

"Yeah... he is."

"Did he try to seduce you into doing--"

"Yoven, stop worrying about me. I told you I'm fine."

"I just want to know..."

"Yes," Barmond sighed. "The answer is yes, and no, I didn't let him do anything more than trying. There, happy?"

"Are you mad?"

"What? No! No, no, I'm not mad." Barmond reached to stroke Yoven's cheek. "You worry too much. You're going to worry yourself into an early grave if you continue."

"I'll... try. I just... I don't know so much. Everything is so new, and I feel like you're the only one protecting me, so I don't want to lose you. So really, it's a little selfish..."

"It's fine to be selfish."

"I know-- I mean, it never felt right to me, to be selfish, until I was... you know. Kicked out. When I was younger I used to do everything for mister Frenkes. He was the kindest, most intelligent, most handsome man in the world. But then he didn't believe me. He didn't trust me as I trusted him, even when I would tell him the truth. And then I was on my own, again. It's funny how now, you know, you're here for me and I'm also here for you."

Barmond chuckled. "You're rambling, Yoven."

"Isn't it true? Or is it weird because we just met?"

"Go to sleep."

"Hmm. I get it, it's a little weird. I'll go to sleep now."

"No no, it's not weird. Anyone in your situation would do the same."

"Really?" Yoven laid down on his pillow, turned in Barmond's direction. "And you? What do you think about it?"

Barmond sighed. "Do you have to know?"

"I'd like to."

Barmond didn't answer right away. He laid down in the bed face up and hands crossed behind his head.

"I think you're a good person, Yoven," said Barmond. "With a very good heart. I'm glad it's you and not someone else."

Yoven chuckled, a little flustered.

"Now we sleep," added Barmond.

"Right, right."

And they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, by the way, be careful where you're reading, there's surprise voyeurism smut in the following chapter-- 
> 
> What do you mean, "too late, but thanks for the warning"? You guys read waaaaay too fast.


	23. The Scent

Barmond woke up in a bad mood, as he did when he was hungry.

Yoven wasn't there when he awoke, probably gone to get dinner. Barmond could hear the sounds coming from the main room downstairs, where the humans were eating. He would have to think of his own nourishment soon.

Maybe he could sneak out and find someone else then Yoven. He considered it, for a moment, before discarding the idea as foolish. This was a tiny village, not some city where he could easily hide among the numbers. If anything went wrong, that could put the entire mission in jeopardy as he was chased out at pitchfork's end and called a demon.

He knew he would have to look elsewhere eventually. A single human couldn't possibly sustain a vampire for very long, even one with an appetite as light as Barmond's. In fact, the first thing Barmond had tried to estimate when he was turned was how many retainers he would have kept just so that he wouldn't need any outside donation, and the number he had come up with was two, maybe three if he wanted to keep them healthy - and those numbers were light compared to others. A full-blooded vampire needed one meal a night to survive, and that didn't even count if they were using any of their powers regularly. That often placed them at five to ten retainers.

But he'd think about the next meal later. Right now, he knew that Yoven would come back to him after dinner, and then he would have to find a way to break it to him. It wasn't going to be easy.

He was a little scared. He knew he wasn't going to hurt Yoven, not even make him feel pain beyond a brief flash of it when he pierced the skin. But there would be more consequences than just pain. He knew, better than anyone, how vulnerable a vampire could get when they had red retainers. They were the one that could hold one by the feelings. He had always been so careful not to create a link with a human, always distancing himself from the people he drank from, always leaving them behind and avoiding them for a while. Even when he had lived at Schwertzwald had he kept away from picking a favourite. Of course, that had partly been because Otto would have been against it. But it wasn't the whole truth.

Could he really allow Yoven to come this close to him?

Right as he asked himself that question, he heard the sounds of footsteps in the hallway. Yoven's footsteps. Since when could he tell them apart from others just by hearing them?

He got up and walked to the window, opening the curtains. Their room had its windows oriented towards the back of the inn, towards the building that served as some sort of stable. There was a young boy still working in them, at the light of a lantern, shoving away the manure in a barrel. Barmond, in the dark of his room, focused his attention on him.

It was in vain. When Yoven walked in, the delicious smell of a living, breathing human obsessed him immediately.

"Oh," said Yoven. "You're awake. You could have turned on the light."

Barmond didn't answer. He was still pretending that he was very interested in the stables but he was so, so aware of the other moving behind him, how close he was coming.

Yoven didn't let his silence phase him. He walked to their dresser and fiddled with the tinderbox and the candle on top of it. Seconds later, light came from behind Barmond, light from a tiny flame.

"Are you all right?" asked Yoven.

Barmond closed the curtain and turned around. Yoven was standing there with the candlestick in his hand, the pale flame illuminating his face. He had undone the thin scarf that he used to tie his collar and now it was slightly loose. Was he even aware of how the sight of his half-hidden neck tortured Barmond?

"Yoven," he said. "How did you rest?"

It was Yoven's turn not to answer. He tilted his head to the side, watching Barmond's face carefully, as if trying to understand him with no words. Eventually, understanding came to his face.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"No--" Barmond cleared his throat. "Maybe. Yes. Yes, I might be hungry."

"So now is the time," said Yoven. "How do you want to do this?"

Barmond didn't know how to answer. He looked down, at the ground, for a second, then back up at Yoven to try and gauge his reaction. In the weak light of his candle, he was obviously doing his best to appear unafraid. Barmond realized that he needed to be the one taking matters in his own hands, for the sake of Yoven - and himself. So that is what he did.

"You can sit on the bed," Barmond said. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not scared," said Yoven.

"You don't need to lie."

"I... I am a little scared."

"That's normal. You'll be fine. I promise. You trust me, right?"

Barmond took a step forward, offering a tight smile. Yoven smiled back, then went towards the bed, placing the candle on a stool near it. He sat down.

Barmond joined him. For a brief second, he had a flashback to a similar scene that had occurred with Hugo a few nights ago. He quickly chased it out of his head. He didn't want to remember that imbecile's punchable face, not when this moment was supposed to be about Yoven and Yoven only.

"Wouldn't it be more comfortable if I laid down?" asked Yoven.

"Laid down?"

"Yeah, erm... let me show you."

Yoven put his back to Barmond and laid on the bed, over the covers. He glanced over his shoulder, and Barmond had to agree that this position, indeed, looked a lot more practical. He got on all fours and crawled over until he was one arm over his retainer. He smelled... of other humans, from down in the common room. Of food. But mostly, he smelled of Yoven, lovely Yoven, and that was the most haunting scent of all.

He felt his fangs slip out of his gums. He didn't think too much of how they seemed to respond to Yoven's presence, he was already lost in the feeling of him, the sight of him laying on the sheets in the dim light of the candle.

He leaned in even closer. Delicately, he peeled away Yoven's collar and leaned in for a small kiss on his skin.

Yoven's reaction was immediate: he tensed and his hand shot up to cling to Barmond's arm, holding it tight. The latter chuckled.

"I didn't bite you yet," said Barmond.

"It-- I thought you did." Yoven was whispering. He curled on himself ever-so-slightly. "It tickles."

"It tickles?"

"When you talk so close to my neck - I can feel your breath."

"Sorry."

"It's fine-- Please, continue. Waiting is killing me."

Barmond usually would have taken his time more than that - he liked to - but since Yoven was asking it, he obliged. That didn't mean that he wasn't careful. When he sank in his teeth, he did so slowly. Yoven still tensed, his breath becoming hazardous, his grip on Barmond's arm tightening. And then he breathed in deeply, and then he forced himself to relax. Barmond waited for him to adjust.

"Barmond?" he said in a small voice.

That was the sign Barmond had been waiting for. He took a small sip.

"Cold," whispered Yoven.

Barmond wanted nothing more than to draw away and hold him in his arms to tell him sorry, no, that it was all right. But already he would have been fighting against his instincts to do so. The second the taste of Yoven's blood hit his tongue he craved more with a force that even took him by surprise. So, between drawing away and continuing, he picked continuing.

Yoven signed in a way that made something stir in the depth of Barmond and let go of his arm to reach for the back of his head, pressing him to his neck. That what when Barmond knew that he was about to lose himself, just before the last of his defence fell. With a slight purr, he wrapped his arm around Yoven, sinking so that the weight of his chest would rest against the other's back. And Yoven accepted it. And Yoven moaned, small, breathy sounds that were nothing if not music to Barmond's ears.

Warmth spread in Barmond's chest, making him shiver in delight. His hunger subdued, slowly but surely, as he had his full. It took a good chunk of will to stop himself, to not take more than what he needed.

He had none left to pull his fangs away from Yoven's warmth. So he stayed there and, before he knew it, he was starting to purr.

"Barmond?" whispered Yoven.

That snapped him out of his light, blood-induced trance. He pulled away and quickly licked the wound clean. Yoven turned around to face him.

"What was that at the end?" he asked.

"What was what?"

"That sound you did?"

"Well..." Barmond suddenly felt embarrassed. He had not meant to indulge as he had, not for Yoven's scary first time, but he had. "It's, erm, a sound vampire make when they are content."

"You sounded like a cat," said Yoven. "A very big cat."

"I did?" Of course he did. He knew that. It wasn't called purring for anything. "Strange."

"It's something you do when you're well-fed?" asked Yoven.

"It's... yes, but also generally when I'm happy."

"I'm glad you're happy," said Yoven. "It wasn't-- it felt nice, erm-- a lot _nicer_ than I thought it would. At the start, it hurt a little but then-- I can't describe it. Sounds came out of me--"

"Hush," said Barmond. "It's normal. Don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried. It's the truth."

"I believe you."

"Will it be like that every time?"

"If everything goes well, yes," said Barmond.

"This time went well."

Barmond breathed in. His nose, his head, all of him was full of Yoven. He could see himself staying like that forever, half laying over him, talking to him in hushed tones. He knew it was the post-drinking lust that was speaking and he enjoyed the fact that he didn't have to shake it off. Not yet, at least.

"This time..." he said. "This time went better than well. How do you feel?"

Yoven took a few seconds to sense his state before answering. "Tired. And a little cold."

"You should rest."

Yoven shook his head.

"It's normal to feel weak," said Barmond. "You lost some blood. You'll be fine but you should take care of yourself first."

"There is something I want to do tonight," said Yoven.

"What? Maybe I can do it for you. It wouldn't be a bother."

"I got to do it. But-- Well, I'd like for you to come with me. If you're okay with that."

"Anytime."

He would have come along anyway. He wasn't sure that Yoven understood how much of a toll feeding a vampire could take on his body. He didn't want him to fall over from exhaustion at a moment's notice.

"What is it that you want to do?" asked Barmond.

"Remember the talk from last night?" asked Yoven. "Or, more like last... day? I think it was this morning."

"Yes? What about it?"

"You told me to ask Hugo if I had more questions but, well-- I don't want to disturb him or-- I mean, I was wondering if you could come with me."

Barmond opened his mouth. Quiet horror slowly spread its icy roots through his veins.

"I know you two got some issues," said Yoven. "I'd understand if you didn't want to but... He's very nice or, like, he _seems_ nice to me, but he's also so big and a werewolf-- I don't know if I'd muster the courage to go and speak to him on my own. You wouldn't have to tell him anything if you don't want but-- Please? Can you come with me?"

How could Barmond ever say no to Yoven? It was plain as day that just thinking of going on his own made him nervous. Barmond could defend himself against Hugo's teasing, it wouldn't be the first time that he did. And he would rather be there to watch over Yoven. Who knew what a vile brute like Hugo could do to poor, innocent Yoven when Barmond wasn't looking?

"All right," said Barmond. "I'll come if you want me there."

"Thank you Barmond."

Yoven's bright smile meant the world to him.


	24. The Repressed

Barmond knew where the pack's camp was, of course. He needed to know so that he could avoid it to the best of his abilities. Only tonight he had to lead Yoven to it because he had promised it. They had found a spot to plant their tents on the very edge of Lamare, not far from the forest. They were given all the room they needed to be as loud and wild as they wanted - what else could one expect from werewolves?

They had made a couple of fires and were gathered around them, talking loudly among them about things no one really cared about. Barmond approached what seemed to be the main fire and looked around, but he spotted Hugo nowhere. It wasn't until Yoven pointed him out at another fire around the back that Barmond spotted him. He was busy eating and talking with two other werewolves that looked a little younger than he was. Actually, he looked like he was the oldest werewolf present, now that Barmond was having a good look at everyone, and by far. That surprised him. Usually, werewolves packs tended to have a much more harmonious spread of ages. Was there a story behind that?

Yoven seemed like he was about to make a beeline for Hugo but Barmond wanted to go around, so he followed. There was no need for them to be noticed any more than they needed to. So they kept to the shadows, at least until they had no other choice than to approach the alpha brute himself.

Hugo, of course, seemed aware of their presence before they even stepped into the circle of light from his fire. He simply switched his attention to the two of them, smiling knowingly, as if he had been warned that they would drop by.

"Good evening," he said.

The two other werewolves he had been talking to, surprised, turned around to look at them. Yoven muttered something that sounded like a greeting and looked as if he was about to try and make his face disappear in his tight collar.

"We'd like to talk to you, Hugo," said Barmond. "Alone."

"We?" Hugo seemed a little surprised by the use of the plural, his gaze shifting between Yoven and Barmond. "Hmm. Sure. Looame, Kebreis, would you mind leaving us for a moment?"

The two werewolves excused themselves quickly, obviously eager to please their leader. Barmond helped Yoven sit down - and something about the way he treated the human was a clue that Hugo picked on.

"Are you sure you should be up, Yoven?" he asked. "You should rest after giving blood."

"I feel well enough," said Yoven. "I'm the one that wanted to talk to you. Barmond was kind enough to come with me."

"Is that so?" Hugo gave Barmond a side glance as the latter was sitting down next to his retainer. "So, I'm guessing this has nothing to do with our mission."

"That will come later," said Barmond. "I'm only here because Yoven asked me to come."

"Huh. So, what did you want to talk to me about, Yoven?"

Yoven just turned red, which was surprising considering how little blood was left in his body. Hugo chuckled, while Barmond just sat there wondering why was his retainer this shy about it. Surely the subject was taboo but from the looks of it, it seemed that Yoven was getting timid _because_ he was talking with Hugo. Which was, of course, ridiculous.

Hugo chuckled again. And, really, how dare he? It was one thing for him to laugh at Barmond, it was another to laugh at Yoven, that had done nothing to him.

"He wants to ask some more questions about your lifestyle," said Barmond.

"My lifestyle?" Hugo answered. "What lifestyle?"

"Aren't you a... a homosexual?" asked Yoven.

Hugo started to laugh. Yoven made a high squeak. Barmond gave Hugo the dirtiest look he could muster.

"That's it?" Hugo asked.

"What do you mean, that's it?" grumbled Barmond.

Hugo had to force himself to stop laughing, wiping his eyes to do away with some invisible tear having traced down the little crow's paws at the corner of his eyes.

"First off," he said, "it's not a lifestyle, Barmond. It's just who I am."

"Is that relevant?"

"You can change a lifestyle, you can't change how you feel inside about certain people. So, yeah, there is a difference."

"How does it feel?" asked Yoven. "When you, like... like a man?"

Hugo rose a brow in surprise. "Like how you would feel when you like a woman?"

Yoven just stared at Hugo for a moment, prompting him to quickly correct:

"Basically, you want to be close to them, spend time with them... you wouldn't be opposed to touching them, on top of wanting to know them. Some things they do or say makes you feel physically warm down there. Once you've felt it, you know how to recognize it. It can even lead to love, if you're lucky."

Yoven was obviously uncomfortable, squirming in his seat with his eyes darting left and right as if looking for a way to get away. Barmond decided he needed to intervene.

"You don't need to get in the details," he said.

"I'm explaining to Yoven. Don't be jealous, I can give you some attention later if you want."

"Stay away from me."

"Aren't you bored of always repeating the same sentences, Barmond?"

"Aren't you bored of always trying and failing?"

"Failing? But am I, really?"

"Mister Rocher," said Yoven before Barmond could reply, "do you feel those things for Barmond?"

That earned Yoven a weary smile from Hugo, which was a welcome change compared to his loud and obnoxious laughing.

"I might," he answered, "although it goes a bit further than just... lust. I think he's smart. I also think that he has a unique and useful skillset, and that's the main reason why I want him around." He paused. "I hope, at least, that it is the main reason I do keep him around. Maybe I'm already too far gone."

"You're definitely thinking with your dick," commented Barmond. "Because that's all you are. A dick."

"I think he's quite cute," said Hugo. "Physically. Mentally... he's just so fun to mess with. And I've never met someone more repressed than him in my life, so if anything I'm curious as to how he doesn't just combust spontaneously."

" _Repressed?_ " Barmond was this close to straight-up hissing at his face. "Who-- Look who's talking?"

" _I'm_ repressed, little Barmond?"

"No-- But you are an idiot-- What am I saying. You are an ogre, the fattest I've seen in my life, except that instead of food you've been eating raw, uncooked _ignorance._ Some day, that will kill you and I'll laugh at you."

"Nice one," said Hugo. "I like how you never insult me twice with the same words, very entertaining."

"Of course you're entertained! You're so simple-minded you'd be entertained by paint drying."

"Keep going."

"I'd call you a werewolf-smelling turd but even that doesn't follow you around when you walk away."

"Hey, that was low," said Hugo, slightly annoyed. "I'm not the only one smelling like a werewolf around here and I haven't seen you complaining about Patricia's company."

"Fair, fair. You are a special case. Too bad it's for none of the reasons you think you're special for."

"Erm..." said Yoven.

He immediately recoiled when both Hugo and Barmond gave him all of their attention, the shy thing. But he still gathered up his courage and asked what was on his mind.

"What does being repressed mean?"

"Don't you _dare_ ," hissed Barmond, stopping Hugo from gesturing at him as a response.

Hugo shrugged.

"It means you want to deny what you really feel," said Hugo.

"How do you know when you're doing it?"

"How would I know?" said Hugo.

"Yeah, how would you?" said Barmond.

"Yeah, ask Barmond."

"I _said_ I'm not!"

"Or you could ask a succubus, back at the nest," said Hugo. "They can sniff out what a person really likes even if the person wants to hide it. They know a lot more about it then I do, to be honest, or at least they can explain better than I do. I just do whatever I feel like doing most."

"It shows," said Barmond.

"Does an incubus count?" asked Yoven.

"You aren't scared of Ranphoros?" said Hugo. "I know he's not all bad, I'm just surprised that you'd want to talk to him at all, considering how... well, how he's been treating you. He's a bit intense sometimes."

"No, no, not Ranphoros," said Yoven. "I was just asking because there's one living right across our room at the moment." Beat. "And he's also a homosexual."

Hugo just stared at Yoven, eyes wide. The latter squirmed. Barmond, however, immediately caught on what was on the werewolf's mind.

"His name is Vanja," he said. "Tall, dark-skinned, generally distasteful. From what I gathered, he's an entertainer."

"What did you say he was?" asked Hugo.

"An incubus?" Yoven replied. He still had not caught on.

Hugo stood up. There was a dark expression on his face, a mix of boiling rage and razor-sharp focus. Not even when he had fought Barmond did he look quite as scary as he did at the moment.

"Wait here," he said.

Before he turned away and walked off with murderous intent.

Of course, Barmond got up to follow him immediately after. And, because Yoven was enough of a good person to actually obey Hugo's orders, he gestured back at him to have him come as well. Werewolves didn't drink blood but there was no way Barmond was leaving him alone among them--

Ah, fuck. His unreasonable affection for Yoven was already starting to set in. Or maybe that process started a while ago now. At this point, he didn't know. He just wanted to make sure Yoven was in the safest place at all time, with him.

Catching up with Hugo and his ungodly strides were not an easy task, but Barmond didn't let him out of his sight. The werewolf walked straight across their camp, barking a few questions at one or two of the pack members, then set his sight on a tent that was out of the way.

By the time Barmond - and Yoven, still hot on his trail - had caught up, Hugo was already leaning inside it. Then came sounds that sounded vaguely like protests, although only from a male voice. Unsurprisingly - Yoven still gasped in shock - moments later, a naked Vanja was dragged out. At least he had grabbed a blanket to cover his shoulders and his shoulders only, even if it was large enough to hide the rest.

"I'm so sorry," Vanja said in a pitiful, trembling voice that Barmond knew all-to-well. "I didn't mean to deflore your daughter, she told me that she was an orphan--"

"Shut up, incubus," said Hugo.

Oh damn, thought Barmond. Angry Hugo was quite scary.


	25. The Troublemaker

"What do you think you were doing?" asked Hugo before Vanja had the time to reply.

"What do you mean, incubus?" said Vanja, indignant. "You have no--" He noticed Barmond's presence. He immediately changed his tone. "I am a very nice incubus, I promise, I never hurt anyone if I can help-- I mean I never do at all, ever."

"What have you done to Patricia?" said Hugo.

"Erm, do you really want to know everything or do you want the child-friendly version--"

" _Don't_ try that game."

"She's just resting! She's not unconscious or anything--" Vanja gestured at the tent. "I just took a little bit of her energy, not much, you could go and shake her and she would wake up."

Hugo didn't answer. He just crossed his arms and raised a brow.

"Well, maybe she's actually sleeping a little bit deeper than that. But she's still fine!"

"Still? I dragged you over her body and she didn't react."

Barmond suddenly felt a little worried. Incubus could kill while feeding just as vampires could, although of course incubus would never gather half as bad a reputation as vampires because they were generally quite nice. Generally. If that was Patricia in there and she wasn't feeling good-- Well, maybe she had shot once with a bold but, really, she must have known he wouldn't die from it. And then she had been okay-ish with him. Nicer than Hugo had been, at least in Barmond's book. He rounded Hugo and ducked into the tent to check on her.

She looked as if she was breathing, that much he could tell. There wasn't much visibility but he could still see that the darkness was her only covering. Barmond threw her discarded clothes on her and then, not really knowing what else to do, searched for her pulse. He quickly concluded that she seemed fine, just unresponsive. What there anything else he could check?

He tapped her cheek but she didn't respond. If she would have been a vampire, he would have offered her blood on the spot just to help her through it. He remembered when he had gone through a similar experience, how foggy and lethargic he had felt. This wasn't a good feeling. He didn't wish it on anyone, not even Hugo.

Outside, Vanja was still protesting his innocence, recounting how she had agreed to take him back to her tent and that her intentions had been very clear. A little further off, the other werewolves were gathering. Their expressions ranged from worried to outright hostile towards the intruder.

"Did she even know what you were?" asked Hugo.

Vanja interrupted his story and bit his lip, looking mildly panicked.

"No..." he said. "But she didn't seem to really mind when-- She didn't mind at all when I made myself attractive to her--"

"By using your glamour, right?" said Hugo.

"Well--"

"So you tricked her?"

"I mean--"

"At no point did she agree, then."

Vanja opened his mouth but he didn't seem like he had anything else to say.

Barmond used that moment of quiet to step in. "She's not responsive but she seems otherwise fine," he said.

Hugo nodded and passed Barmond on his way inside the tent. And while Barmond did step to the side, that smell of Hugo, that was so _him_ , hit Barmond in the face. For a brief second, he had a flashback to the taste of Hugo's blood, what it felt like to be close to him. And then Hugo was gone.

Barmond reported his attention on Vanja, checking that he didn't use the time that Hugo was away to try and bolt. The incubus stared back. In the corner of his eye, Barmond could see Yoven holding up his hand so that he wouldn't look at Vanja's nudity by accident.

"Can't you cover yourself?" asked Barmond.

Still staring at him with what was becoming an awkward stare, Vanja picked up a corner of his blanket - Patricia's blanket - and dropped it on his lap.

"Better?" he asked. There was a mocking undertone to his voice. "Not feeling threatened by the size difference anymore?"

"Yes. Thank you," said Barmond just as sarcastically.

Hugo came out of the tent right then, having gathered Vanja's clothes. He seemed a little calmer now, even if his face was still closed. Barmond took it that Patricia was going to be okay.

"Get dressed," he said, tossing him the pile of cloth. And then he turned to the rest of the werewolf pack. "There is nothing to see here, show's over."

There was a moment where no one spoke, as Vanja covered himself in his poofy and colourful garments and the other werewolves moved away, back to the main fire. Barmond was quite certain they would still be able to hear whatever conversation they were about to have, with their sharpened senses.

It occurred to him that they probably listened in on his earlier conversation with Hugo as well.

Hugo had gone back into the tent one last time with the blanket, probably to cover Patricia so that she wouldn't catch a cold, then came out. He seemed focused.

"Your name is Vanja, correct?" asked Hugo.

"Depends," said Vanja. "It could be Paul. Who knows? You'll never know."

"Vanja. You can't stay here."

Vanja, staring at Hugo right in the face, took a single step to the left. Barmond decided that maybe that incubus wasn't so bad after all.

"I meant here, in Lamare."

"And who are you to tell me that?" said Vanja, hands on his hips. "The chief of fun-killing? The lord of good time interruptions?"

"Precisely," muttered Barmond.

"Oh please, spare me," said Vanja, rolling his eyes. "You're _no_ better."

"It does not matter who I am," said Hugo. "Lamare is claimed territory and I simply cannot let you stay here."

"Claimed? This shithole?" Vanja raised his arms to encompass all that was around him. "It barely has enough people to be of any interest to me or my troupe of brave gentlemen. I'm guessing your master is some fairy lunatic that still hangs around this dimension, for some reason. Am I right?"

"No. It's an incubus lord. Does the name Ranphoros ring a bell?"

That, at least, gave quick-witted Vanja a pause. Emotion flashed on his face: surprise, fear, hate, then surprise again.

"But he's all the way back in Gardel!" said Vanja. "I still must leave?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"You? Wait-- wait, I know who you are." Vanja took a step back, giving Hugo a once-over as if to make sure. "You're that werewolf lieutenant of his. That hunter. Hugo."

"Yes. And now you understand why I cannot let you stay on the territory that he has claimed."

"So it's all out of loyalty to him? He can't even know I'm here! Now that's just being over-zealous."

"If I'm saying you're leaving, then you're leaving," said Hugo.

"Please tell me you're also doing this out of spite. That amount of chauvinism is _disgusting_."

"Maybe..." Hugo smirked. "Maybe I am spiteful. You messed with the wrong pack. What's that to you?"

"Aha!" Vanja's attitude shifted, again. He looked like a merchant about to seal the deal of his career. "That's important. Very important. That means I can bribe you."

"By sleeping with me? Nice try. That won't work."

"Lilith's tits," swore Vanja.

"You should take the offer," said Barmond. "Then maybe you won't be such a horndog."

"Don't worry, lovebite, my attention is entirely devoted to you."

Barmond hissed, flashing his fangs. Vanja turned around sharply, looking worried, but Barmond had already closed his mouth.

"Mister Rocher," said Yoven, "I'm sorry if I'm wrong, but I'm under the impression that Barmond doesn't want it too much. Your attention, that is. Maybe."

"I don't," said Barmond.

"Don't worry, Yoven," said Hugo. "It's true, I think Barmond's cute but, really, he can't tell the difference between teasing and harassing." He laughed, and Barmond almost thought that he heard a hint of awkwardness in his voice. "Although I'll probably stop soon since he's so opposed to it. But it was fun while it lasted."

"Finally!" said Barmond.

Vanja had followed the exchange quite carefully, his big brown eyes shifting from one speaker to the other without fail. He cleared his throat.

"You know, being rejected like that hurt, Hugo," he said. "That's the most heart-breaking thing you could have told me."

"Eh, don't worry, Vanja," said Hugo. "I'm sure you'll get over it, between packing up and thinking about why you shouldn't be picking up strangers to feed on."

"That you should send me, a defenceless and joyous fellow, out on the open roads when the whole region is threatened by those dreadful imps... really, it baffles me."

Barmond rolled his eyes. It seemed they were not getting rid of the incubus without at least some dramatics. It was expected.

"You should try bribing them, then," said Hugo.

" _Especially_ ," cried Vanja, ignoring Hugo's remark, "when I hold such vital information!"

"About the imps?" immediately asked Barmond. "We are hunting them. You should tell us everything you know."

"The _imps_?" said Vanja. "No! Ew! Just because they are related to incubus-- We have _nothing_ in common."

"Then you don't know everything that can be useful to us," said Hugo. "I'm starting to lose patience. You should get off my camp."

"I didn't mean you, as in _all_ of you," said Vanja. "I meant... You." He pointed at Hugo. Took a step closer to him. "You'll surely be very interested in what I have to say."

Hugo seemed surprised at first, but something on Vanja's face gave him a reason to smirk. Barmond didn't like where this was going.

"What is it then?" asked Hugo.

"I need you to promise you'll look the other way as I stay here a little longer," said Vanja.

"I need more about what it is you have."

"It's about mister feisty behind me."

"Deal," said Hugo.

"What do you mean, _deal_?" said Barmond.

"He very much swings both ways," said Vanja, "and also, he likes you more than he wants to admit."

"I _do not!_ "

"Is that so?" said Hugo.

"Can't fool an incubus' senses," said Vanja.

"He's just telling you what you want to hear, you moron," said Barmond.

"You may go, Vanja," said Hugo. "Good talk. But stay away from my pack. I won't always be so generous."

"Don't worry, I won't. Not to be offensive but you werewolves seem to love drama a bit too much for my taste. At least you're not vampires, am I right?"

Hugo started to laugh. Vanja started to laugh. Barmond crossed his arms, very unamused.

"I am," said the latter.

"You are?" said Vanja. "You are... what? Dramatic? I noticed. Maybe next time try to be nicer and I'll keep your little secrets a little more, Barmond." He huffed, tossing his head back. "You never win against an incubus like me."

"No," said Barmond. "I'm a vampire."

Vanja _stopped_. All colours drained from his cheeks.

"Oh," he said. "That's very nice. Erm. No offence taken?"

"Offence very much taken."

"Oh." Vanja's voice was a whole octave higher now.

Hugo chuckled in the background, visibly amused by the show.

"Just..." Barmond waved his hand around, frustrated. "Just leave. You've caused enough trouble as it is."

Vanja nodded and, never letting his eyes off Barmond, he scooted back into the night and towards the village. Even when he was at a safe distance would he look back to check on Barmond.

"And I'm the one that you call bully?" said Hugo.

"Shut up."

"No. You've been lying to me and you owe me an explanation."

"No, I don't."

"Oh, we're going to play that game now?" said Hugo. "Again? After you've been revealed like that?"

"I haven't been revealed. He lied."

Hugo crossed his arms and sighed. Barmond expected him to smirk, or even say something to undermine him, but he stayed quiet. He even hung his head, just a little. It was as if he was giving up.

"You know, Barmond," he said after a short silence, "I give up. There's playing hard to get, and then there is whatever the fuck you're doing. It was fun while it lasted."

"What?" asked Barmond. "What do you mean?"

"What, 'what do you mean?' I'm giving you what you want: peace and tranquillity. I'm done. I'm walking away. Looking to greener pastures. I'm a werewolf and yet my life is still too short to chase after someone that doesn't want it, for some reason."

"Ah," said Barmond. "Erm. That's good."

"Glad you approve."

"I do!"

"No need to scream."

"I'm not screaming."

"If you say so." Then, without missing a beat, Hugo turned to Yoven. He was smiling. "How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Me?" said Yoven.

"Who else?"

"Oh, well, I'm feeling alright, I guess. It's just all so new for me."

"Are you hungry?"

"A little..."

"Let me get you something to eat."

"Wait for a second, Hugo," said Barmond. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What do you mean?" asked Hugo. He had the galls to look surprised.

"With my retainer? You think that I can't see you coming?"

"What are you getting at, Barmond? I just want to give the lad some food."

"That's what you say!"

Hugo sighed. But he didn't fool Barmond.

"Now's the time you chose to be jealous?" asked Hugo.

"I'm not jealous! Come, Yoven, let's go back to the inn. We'll get you some food there."

Yoven looked at Hugo, then at Barmond, clearly torn as to what to do. Eventually, it was Hugo that gestured to him that he could follow Barmond, which irked the latter even more than he already was. But he didn't comment. Once again, all he wanted was to get out of this situation as fast as possible.

Yoven had to trot after him to keep up. But at least Barmond was getting away.

"Goodbye, then," said Hugo.

"Goodbye, mister Rocher!"

The innkeeper was fine with staying up a little longer to prepare them food once Barmond had given her a generous tip for her effort. But really, the only one eating was Yoven. Barmond was fine simply sipping some beer and watching him.

Even if Yoven looked quite gloomy, pushing pieces of pepper around his plate as he chewed slowly. The clinking of his fork was the only sound in the empty main room of the inn. Even the owner had gone back up to bed.

"You're not hungry?" asked Barmond after a while.

"I am," said Yoven.

"Is something the matter?"

Yoven looked up at Barmond for the first time since the beginning of his second meal. His expression was... strange. Not exactly sad. Pensive, perhaps?

"Is what Vanja said true?" he asked. "That you like both?"

"That again?" said Barmond, already getting annoyed by the conversation. "It's not."

"Oh." Yoven looked down at his plate again.

They were right back at the beginning again. Barmond sighed and covered Yoven's free hand with his.

"Yoven, look at me."

He did.

"You can tell me what is bothering you."

"Why do you get so angry?" asked Yoven.

That question took Barmond completely out of left field. His first impulse was to say that he wasn't angry, of course he wasn't, but he realized that this was a lie. Hugo made him angry. Wasn't that a natural reaction to someone so bothersome and full of himself? Yoven had met Hugo, he should know!

But that was the point. Yoven _had_ met Hugo, and yet he asked anyway. Was... was Barmond the one in the wrong here?

"Sometimes, you're very careful. And caring," said Yoven when he saw that Barmond wasn't going to answer. "I see it in your eyes when you look at me... And then suddenly, sometimes, you explode. I can seldom tell when you're about to do it. It's scary. You're scary. I do my best not to be scared all the time and I want to trust you. But you're scared. Sometimes."

"I..."

"Maybe I just don't know you well enough."

"Yoven... I would never hurt you," said Barmond. "I promise."

"I believe you. But I don't understand why you get angry."

"Well, if I don't get angry, no one ever listens to me!"

"I do."

"I know. But Hugo doesn't--"

"Hugo _did_."

"He... yeah, he did. But he only did because I got angry enough."

Somehow, for some reasons, those words felt empty to Barmond. He wanted to say them again, with even more conviction. He _wanted_ to believe them. They were... convenient.

"I think that people listen to you better when you talk to them calmly," said Yoven. "Because when you scream they want to protect themselves."

"Good."

"No-- Then they don't listen to you. Or at least that's what I think. I always try to talk to people so that they listen."

Barmond had nothing to answer to that. There was a part of him that wanted to dismiss Yoven's advice because he was young, he had not seen much of life, he didn't know what he was talking about. And there was that other part. The one that thought that he made a lot of sense.

"I think I'm full," said Yoven. "I'm going to go nap a little. Tomorrow's market day. I want to go and see if anything is interesting, even if I think it will mostly be food. I'm guessing that you'll be heading out?"

"Yeah," said Barmond. "I still don't know where the imps take their water. I might drop by the werewolf camp to ask them if they would be willing to keep an eye on them during the day and check if they bring in any reserves from a nearby stream."

"Want me to leave the window open for you to come in?"

"Please."

"All right then."

"And Yoven?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm happy you told me about what's on your mind. I'll think of it some time, all right? But I don't know if I'll be able to come up with an answer."

Yoven broke into a warm smile "That's already all I could ask for."


	26. The Insomniac

The most troubling thing about the imps was how they had kidnapped humans. Barmond could accept that they had gathered in large numbers, that they were attacking humans for food but kidnappings? That was strange. For every human that they took back at their lair, that was one more person that they needed to feed. Which meant that they had to steal more food. And who said more food-stealing meant taking more risk.

Unless the humans were dead. But not dead enough to be thrown out with the trash?

He needed to figure out what was happening in there, and fast.

A quick scouting of the area around the imps' nest showed only revealed a pond of water, waters green with algae, nestled in the middle of mud and high reed plants. He couldn't picture the imps swooping down from the sky to get water from there.

Unless he had missed something, he concluded that they had a source of drinkable water inside.

He came back to the imps' nest next, looking for a spot where he would have the best view on the entrances. Last time he had visited, there had been this imp that had flown out in the middle of the night - an imp that was not sleeping with the others. On the moment, he had been busy trying to fend off Hugo but the more he thought about it the stranger he thought it was.

He still was not an imp expert but he was very aware of how sharp one's senses had to be in the dark. As a night hunter and a stalker, he was very aware of how easy it was to stalk and then pounce on prey that was meant to live during the day. Humans didn't know it, because they thought that their puny lantern and candles fixed their deficit, but wild animals did. Wild animals like imps always stayed somewhere safe when the darkness descended on the land, unless they were equipped to sense what happened around them during those times.

So why was that imp leaving its nest at night? And not for a simple, quick flight. As far as Barmond had been able to tell, it had not returned after it had tried to spot them. That was highly unusual behaviour. Or was it? Barmond wished he knew more about harpy imps.

He found the spot he had been looking for, a space in the bushes that allowed a grown man to sit down with a direct line of sight on the lair's entrance. He moved into it cautiously, feeling for some branches that might crack if he sat on them with his hands, before he moved in. And then he waited.

Barmond was an infinitely patient person. He had wasted more hours on watch duty than he could count. He just had to get in the right frame of mind and he could sit still for hours, ignoring the sores and the aches - that were not so plentiful now that his body was dead. So that is what he did, hoping that maybe tonight he would spot the imp again and maybe get a better look at it.

His mind started to wander.

He thought of Yoven, of what he had said earlier about him being easily angered. He had honestly not known that it was this bad. To him, it had come naturally - and that was what was worrying.

Barmond had been taught that anger was not a desirable reaction. He had been told that a leader, and later a hunter, needed to make decisions with a cool head. Which he did! He had already been in life or death situations, and it was thanks to his quick thinking that he was still alive. Sort of.

But when it came to interacting with people... with Hugo. Hugo annoyed him to no end. But now that his harassment was over - now that Hugo _said_ that it was over - Barmond had the occasion to look back with a cooler head. He was no longer in survival mode--

Survival mode? Why would he be in survival mode? Hugo was a brute but he had forced himself on Barmond once, and that was to get information out of him - he had backed away the moment he had enough. And yeah, that second time where Barmond had drunk his blood? Barmond might have affirmed, again and again, that it was Hugo's fault that he had fallen into that blood-induced trance, but really even Barmond knew it wasn't.

Why was it so important to make sure that no one thought that he was into men? Not-- Not that he _was_. Maybe. But when he took a step back, when he looked at his past actions as someone that wouldn't be concerned by them, he had to admit that he came across as very, very defensive.

That was suspicious.

Barmond sighed. He simply didn't know what to do with himself. If he had someone else's feelings to compare to, to know what normal really felt like, maybe he could find a way out of his own mess. He wanted to become a better person.

Right as he had come to that conclusion, he saw movement on the corner of his eye: there was something large in the sky, coming from the direction of Lamare. He focused all of his attention on that.

A harpy imp was the size of a small child of seven to eight years old; that one was closer to a child of twelve years of age. In the dark, its dark brown plumage seemed almost black, while the thin skin of its leathery wings was translucent. Its long, feather-tipped tail swooshed in the air behind it, maintaining its balance atop of the wind. It flew down from its heights, towards the entrance of the imps' lair, with confounding assurance. Barmond had no doubts that it could see its way perfectly, with no light other than one of the moods to guide its way.

Just before it crawled through one of the lair's entrances, it peered over its shoulder, towards the forest. For a second, Barmond thought that their eyes had just met, that he had been spotted. The gaze of the creature bore confidently into the darkness.

But it had not seen Barmond. Just as quickly as it had looked back, it looked forward and disappeared in the depth of the rock.

Barmond let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He didn't think of himself as a coward, yet something about this thing gave him the creeps. How it set out on its own, alone. How its black, iris-less eyes scoured out the darkness, as if constantly expecting something in there. That imp was smart. Barmond had no proof of that but he felt it in his guts. And, considering how many times his guts had saved him during his years as a vampire hunter, he was inclined to trust them.

He needed to know more about those imps' mode of action. And he knew exactly who to ask.

Yoven, in all of his consideration, had left the window open to him. It wasn't quite yet dawn when he scaled the inn towards it, even if the sky on the horizon was tinted purple. In their bed, Yoven was sleeping as peacefully as an angel.

But Barmond was not about to join him, not quite yet. He closed the window behind him and walked through the room. The hallway. And then, Vanja's door. Barmond knocked, ready to do so several times if he had to. He wasn't about to walk in without being invited - he had learned that lesson well last time - but he did not really care for the sleep of those within. So he tried once, and he tried again, and again, until he heard a groan from within and the sound of naked feet hitting the ground.

Clement opened the door.

"What the heck do you want?" he whispered furiously. "It's the middle of the night."

Barmond had no patience for those pleasantries. And, yes, it wasn't quite fair to do that to Clement, whom he didn't particularly like in the first place, but he hypnotized him anyway. Clement was a tougher quarry than his usual picks, yet Barmond still had the advantage of surprise. The moment their eyes meet, the struggle was almost over.

"Bring me Vanja," Barmond said.

Clement nodded and moved away from the door, leaving it open in his hurry. His absolute obedience faltered the moment he looked away but, with no training to resist a vampire's older, he was still filled with a sense of urgency regarding the orders he had been given.

Which is why he dragged the still naked Vanja to the door.

Vanja had just opened his mouth to protest when he saw that it was Barmond waiting for him. And while his mouth remained open, all the blood drained from his face at once, like he was going to faint.

"Again?" said Barmond. "Get dressed."

Vanja's mouth snapped shut and he pulled his arm away from Clement's hold. The latter looked more and more confused by his own actions with each second passing, as the effect of Barmond's grip on him faltered.

The incubus passed a shirt over his head and, apparently, this was enough for him. He slipped through the door's opening, closing it behind him.

"If you're planning on hurting me," whispered Vanja, "I will fight back. Just saying."

"I won't. Let's go downstairs so that we don't disturb anyone."

"You say that _now?_ After you've woken up half the building with your furious pounding?"

"They deserve their rest."

"And I _don't?_ "

Barmond didn't answer. He was still mad at Vanja for the outrageous lies he had spread about him. (Or maybe they had not been lies but-- well, even if they had been facts, Barmond was still upset that his private feelings would be used as a bargaining chip.) He let Vanja draw the conclusions he could draw from his silence as he led him to the common room downstairs.

"By the way, I count biting me as hurting me," said Vanja. "Just because I like sharing my body freely doesn't mean _you_ get a piece of it."

"Oh really?" Barmond didn't resist the urge to give in to the provocation, just this once. "I've been told I taste quite nice."

"I taste better-- Wait. What do you mean?"

"That, apparently, an incubus can feed on the pleasure a vampire has while drinking blood. Or so I've been told by one of your kind."

"Wait. It's a sexual thing for you guys? The whole blood-drinking?"

"It's not."

Vanja grinned mischievously. "Keep telling yourself that."

"It isn't." Barmond was starting to get annoyed. Even if he _was_ making an effort not to get angry, he just couldn't help it.

"And you got one of us to feed on you? They must have been absolutely crazy."

"Or unaware that the random that they picked up in a bar had fangs a little longer than expected. It's a long story and now's not the time. I have a service to ask of you."

"Of course you do," said Vanja. "No one wants anything to do with the filthy incubus until they need him. Spit it out."

"Oh don't be so dramatic. I'll pay you for your effort. It's just that you are more at ease than I am when walking around in the day and talking to people. In fact, with your powers to coerce, I think you're the one that's best suited for it."

"Wait. You'll _pay_ me to talk to people?"

"To gather information. By talking to people."

"All right," said Vanja. He smacked his hands together and rubbed them. "Who are we talking to?"

"I want to know everything there is to know about the people that were taken by the imps. Name, age... mostly their size, height and weight, if you can. The imps' lair is high in the air. Knowing their carrying limit might be interesting."

"Uh-huh. So it's a bit like collecting gossip, except this time I'm not trying to ruin a noble's reputation."

"Exactly-- Wait, what?"

"It's a long story, and 'now's not the time'," said Vanja, parroting Barmond's monotone voice. "Anything else you want me to look out for?"

"Patterns in the attacks - the raids' they have done. If they seem to be targetting some people more than others."

"Oh, so if they base their attack on some sort of criteria... Wait. Aren't harpy imps a little too dumb for that?"

"You never know."

"All right, then I'll see what I can do. Those imps have been a bother. I'm glad you guys are working on getting rid of them. Even if you work for that idiot Ranphoros..."

"You know him?"

"No, but he's a poophead."

Barmond rolled his eyes. Not that he disagreed. He simply thought that Vanja was being childish in his prejudice.

"Random question, but--" said Vanja. "Does the payment have to be money?"

"It depends on what else you'd ask for it."

"No, it's just that I'd rather have a vampire owing me a favour. You never know when that might come in handy."

"As long as you don't make me sleep with you, why not?"

Vanja laughed. "Cool your horses, mister Straight. I'm not crazy and I like my blood best where it serves me best: inside my dicks."

"Ew."

"Besides, you're not that attractive. I only wanted to sleep with you yesterday because you'd be less likely to tell everyone about my music lessons if I did. So, that's that."

"I'm relieved to hear that."

"You better be."

"I must tell you though: I'm not that powerful or influential of a vampire. That favour you want might not be worth as much as you think it is."

"Eh, worth case scenario you owe me money. If I've learned one thing in life is that I'm lucky, so I'm always better off taking all my chances."

"Suit yourself."

"Let's shake on it?"

Barmond shrugged but did it anyway. Vanja's handshake was surprisingly firm and dry. He didn't expect that from someone that had been visibly terrified of him barely moments ago.

"Wow, you're even colder than I thought you would," said Vanja.

"Did you shake my hand just to check my body temperature?"

"Maybe. And now, I'll be heading to bed. Good night-- good day?"

"Have a good day, Vanja."

Vanja spun around and walked away, running up the stairs - he looked rather cold, with his lack of pants. Barmond followed shortly after, a little slower than the other.

He thought that he was discreet, and he would have had every reason to think so if Yoven had remained unmoving. Alas, when he slipped between the sheets in nothing but his shirt, he heard the human stir next to him, turning around to face him.

"Bar?" he whispered.

"Go to sleep, Yoven," Barmond whispered back. "It's still very early."

"Hmm."

Yoven readjusted the blankets around him to make sure that he was warm but his eyes remained open. He wasn't about to go back to sleep.

"I dreamed about you," said Yoven.

"Really?"

"Yes. You were with me, and then you leaned down and bit me on the arm."

"Oh, that..."

"It was a good dream. I was surprised how good it felt when you bit me last night. I... sort of look forward to next time. I wouldn't be dreaming about it if it didn't feel nice, right?" He paused. "When are you going to need to feed again?"

"In a couple of nights, probably," said Barmond. "Unless I make a big effort of some sort, I don't need that much blood. And I'll make sure you recovered before then, first and foremost. After that second feeding, I'll give you a week-long break before doing it again."

"Then I'll make sure to rest a lot."

"And eat enough."

"Of course."

"Go to sleep now, Yoven."

"Are you going to sleep?"

"I'm probably going to rest my eyes a little until the sun rises."

"I want to stay awake and talk with you until morning," said Yoven. "I want to know about vampires. There's so little I don't know."

"Can't that wait another time? Vampires are really not the most joyful of subjects. I've had a long night."

"Sorry. I get excited. You must know so much, meanwhile, I have no idea about anything..."

"I promise I'll take the time to tell you everything you want to know, Yoven. When this job is done and we'll go home, I'll sit down with you and we can talk about vampires all night long."

"Really?"

"Promise."


	27. The Spat

The moment the sun disappeared under the horizon, Barmond came to, opening his eyes. The first thing he noticed was Yoven leaning over him.

"Oh," said Yoven as he moved away. "Good evening."

Barmond turned to him, lifting himself on his elbows.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Yoven. "I was just wondering when you would wake up. You just woke up, right?"

"Yes." Barmond frowned. Yoven looked a little embarrassed. Had he been watching him sleep? "Yes, I just woke up now. Did you have a nice day?"

"I did! I went to the market. They have those huge roosters that they raise around here, I never saw such a big bird. Hugo and the others were of big help making sure that no imps attacked, too, although I heard that some farm got raided a little further away."

"They wouldn't approach a place with so many people as Lamare."

"I suppose. Oh, and I saw Vanja today."

"He spoke to you?" Barmond felt a fog of dark, angry emotions swell inside him. He kept it under wraps for Yoven's sake.

"I didn't want to speak to him at first, but he promised that he wouldn't do anything magical to me, like enchanting me. Turns out he wanted to know more about you. He started asking questions about your 'condition'."

"And what did you say?"

"That he could ask you himself, and see if you answer him. And then I left him quickly, just in case he would do something anyway. Oh, also, I got some infusions for you. Do you drink those?"

"Infusions?"

Yoven got up from the bed to happily dig in a basket. Moments later, he was handing the vampire a carefully folded bag. Barmond opened it to smell it - it had a good smell.

"The lady selling them said it's a tonic," said Yoven. "I don't know if you will get any effect from it but I thought it smelled nice."

"Oh, Yoven," said Barmond. "I gave you money so that you spend it for yourself."

"Well, I wanted to give you a present, then."

Barmond found himself smiling while he shook his head in disbelief. Yoven was too nice to him.

"Thank you," he said. "I don't drink infusion, but I'll drink this one. It does smell nice."

"You're welcome."

"You're going to bed, now?"

"Yeah. I've taken a nap, but I've felt a little weak all day. I hope I'm not getting sick."

That caught Barmond's attention. He looked at Yoven's face carefully and noticed that, indeed, Yoven was quite pale. Or, rather, he had not regained any colours since Barmond's last feeding.

"Give me your hands," said Barmond.

Yoven did so. They were cold, even when compared to Barmond's cool hands. The crease in the vampire's brow didn't ease out.

"Is something the matter?" asked Yoven.

"You're not getting sick," said Barmond. "You just haven't started to recover yet. Maybe I need to delay my next feeding another week. You're still quite skinny..."

"It's the blood loss?" asked Yoven.

"I think. I might be wrong," said Barmond. "Maybe I'm just viewing everything through my vampire hunter glasses at the moment. But at least, if it's that, we know that you'll be fine soon. It should go away soon."

"Who are you going to feed on if you don't feed on me, then?" asked Yoven.

"Don't worry about that. I've lived a while, while providing for myself, have I not?"

"That's right."

"Worst-case scenario, Hugo is supposed to see that I don't do anything too stupid." As much as he didn't look forward to talking to him - unless things were different now? "I can talk to him and see what he has to say."

"Ah! Well, I hope that I will recover soon."

"As I do."

Yoven didn't answer that. Instead, he was staring at Barmond strangely, as if waiting for something - or as if he was lost in thoughts. He snapped out of it when Barmond started to get out of the bed.

"I leave the window open for you?" asked Yoven as Barmond was getting dressed.

"Always," answered Barmond. "I hope it doesn't get too cold?"

"It gets a little cold, but the blankets are warm enough. And I like the open window. I imagine you coming back through them to see me."

Barmond chuckled. Looking forward to the return of a vampire? Yoven had the oddest of ideas sometimes.

Vanja was near the fireplace of the common room, slumped in a chair, staring at the last embers in front of him. He looked bored out of his mind until Barmond appeared, after which he jumped to his feet, all smiles.

"Good evening, there," said Vanja. "It's done."

"Already?"

"Of course! Everything you asked me for. It was _easy_."

"Glad to hear that. Shall we talk some more outside?"

They passed the owner of the inn on their way out, as she was closing the shutters of the main room and what Barmond guessed was the kitchen. The moment she saw Vanja, she broke into a great smile and waved at him - and only him.

"Did you do something to the owner?" asked Barmond the moment they were out of earshot.

"Not much, really," said Vanja. "Not more than needed for her to forgive the little oddities about me. I've also made sure she doesn't ask too many questions about her strange guest that sleeps all day today."

"I warned her that I would be doing that."

"There is a difference between respecting one of your patron's wishes and not asking any questions. So, want to hear what I got?"

"Later. I also want to hear what Hugo has to say about what you gathered."

"Wait." Vanja stopped walking. "You didn't say anything about Hugo."

"I have not."

"In case you forgot, last time I saw him, I had just drained one of his pups dry and he was ready to kick me out of Lamare."

"In case _you_ forgot, you've bought your right to stay by publically humiliating me."

"So this is your revenge?" Vanja looked down on Barmond with disdain. "What is your plan? To have me beaten by Hugo after you reminded him of what I did? Try to tempt me into going after another one of his pupils?"

"What are you talking about?" said Barmond. "Not at all! My point is that if I can put aside my differences for work, then so can Hugo. And if he cannot, then I will have to remind him."

"Oh."

"But there is one thing I wanted to talk to you personally."

"Oh?"

"Don't approach Yoven again."

Vanja broke into a smug smile.

"I mean it," said Barmond. "You have no business talking to him. Just because I asked you to do something for me doesn't mean that you have the right to approach him."

"So that's what he told you?" asked Vanja. "That I am the one that approached him?"

"What else? He's terrified of your kind."

"Oh, yeah, he is. He was also terribly curious about me, following me around, so obvious and yet unable to bring himself to approach me. And when I did, he had so many questions for me!"

"What... What sort of questions?"

"Oh, I think it would be best if you asked him yourself next time you see each other. But I think that my answers helped him a lot. That's all I could ask for."

"What sort of answers?"

"That is not to me to say. It's private."

Barmond was about to demand that he answer, but he took in a deep breath and didn't. The incubus could be pulling those affirmations out of his ass for all he knew. It was plain strange that Yoven wouldn't have mentioned it in the first place. Besides, what did Vanja knew that made him more suited than _Barmond_ to answer his questions? Didn't he trust Barmond? What could he be wondering that was so private that he could tell Vanja but not the man with whom he shared a room with?

"Do you think Patricia will be upset with me?" asked Vanja, breaking into Barmond's thoughts.

"I don't know her enough to tell," said Barmond, "but I would imagine that yes, she would be upset with you."

"I really should have controlled myself." Vanja sighed. "But she was so tasty, you know. In retrospective, I should have realised that she wasn't human from her taste alone but... hey, can't take it back now, can't I?"

"Are you going to say sorry?"

"I don't know. I might if she looks pretty tonight."

Barmond sighed. He was glad he wouldn't have to deal with Vanja ever again once this imp problem was taken care of. Well, save for that favour he would be granted, but as long as it wasn't something too outrageous, he thought that he might be capable of dealing with it.

They were arriving in sight of the werewolf camp. Vanja suddenly didn't feel as confident about it as he did before and started to slow down, so Barmond had to grab him by the arm and drag him behind him.

Hugo saw them arriving from far and stood from his spot. He wasn't eating this time, in fact he was still in clothes that were covered in earthy residue. Barmond wondered if he had been out in the forest? What he had been doing there?

Not that he cared what Hugo was up to-- Wait, he did if it was about work. But the rest? He absolutely, totally didn't care. Hugo could go die in a hole for all he cared. Who would cry? Not Barmond! Good riddance! Alas, it wouldn't happen, just because Hugo was too strong to die so stupidly. So strong, and lucky, and loved. Barmond was sure that anyone of the werewolves that kept glueing him at all time would be ready to give their life for him.

Barmond wasn't jealous. He had Yoven now.

Hugo walked up to them to meet them outside of the tent's periphery, where they would be a bit more tranquil.

"Barmond," he said.

"Hugo."

"What is _he_ doing here?"

"I asked him to talk to the locals. He's been doing just that."

"Oh? And he found useful?"

"Collecting information is always useful."

"Collecting _irrelevant_ information is a waste of time," said Hugo. "This better not be senseless gossip. Why must I be present at all?"

"Because we need to get our heads together. If we are going to have a professional relationship, we need to agree on a plan of action."

"A plan of action?" said Hugo. "As in, you'll be in on the action?"

"I can fight," said Barmond.

"It would be best if you stayed behind, actually," said Hugo. "I do not doubt that you can fight. But my pups can as well." Hugo gestured at the camp around and behind him. "They are trained to fight together, even. We won't be needing you to wipe them out."

"Fine." Barmond was a little miffed that he would be pushed to the side like that but he understood the reasoning behind. He did his best to hide his deception. "I'm fine with that. So you're going to run into their lair head-on? Is that your plan?"

"Not exactly--"

"There is something fishy about those imps," said Barmond. "That's why I was sent here in the first place, right? To get to the bottom of this mystery--"

"A mystery that must be fascinating, I'm sure. I still can't see how dragging Vanja into this is relevant. Last I checked, the locals were not the imps."

"Would you just listen to me? The local's information is exactly what we need to gain some insight in their reasoning--"

"What reasoning?" Each of their replies had been getting a little louder than the last; now Hugo's was just below shouting. "They are imps! Once they are dead, there won't be any need to know anything! You need to focus on their _camp_. Can you tell me anything about it?"

Barmond narrowed his eyes. He was so, so close to giving the other a piece of his mind. Hugo had told him that he was smart. Valuable. He had let him run free up to now, telling him to do what he wanted. But the moment Hugo realised that he couldn't get in Barmond's pants, those same investigation skills _he had been recruited for_ became a problem?

Barmond bit his tongue and bid his time.

"Don't look at me like that, Barmond," said Hugo. "Those aren't vampires we're hunting. They are not that smart."

"Fine. Fine," said Barmond. "I get it. All that matters is when they will be dead. Yeah. Yeah!"

"Barmond, don't throw a fit now."

"I'm not _throwing a fit!_ Don't you treat me like a child."

Barmond was mad again, despite how he had told himself that he wouldn't be. But at least it was a different type of anger, one born out of frustration. He had seen Hugo types before, in action, back when he had been a hunter. Action types. Those that were not careful enough. The superiors loved those types. They always gave them the promotions that Barmond felt he deserved and then they _died_. They died when Barmond remained alive and kicking. Because there was always a moment where they thought that they knew better and they stopped listening to the warning signs. Or to the instincts of their subordinates.

And Barmond's instincts were kicking in full gear right about now. He remembered the insomniac imp, the way it had looked over its shoulder before crawling back into the darkness. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And he wanted to punch Hugo's stupidly handsome face.

"Listen," said Hugo. "There has been an attack, again. By the time I heard about it, it was too late. I tried to rush but--" For a second, Barmond saw it: regret. Hugo let his mask slip and showed himself. It was gone before he knew it. "That must be the last time that happens. The people are scared. I can't let anything happen. So tell me: when do you think is the best time to attack?"

"Do you trust me now?" spat Barmond.

"What? Of course I do," said Hugo. "I have my own ideas but I want to hear what you think. Why else would I have you brought here?"

Barmond stared at Hugo's face, looking for the fault in its creases. The well-trimmed beard. The strong, stubborn eyes. The wide shoulders. Maybe... maybe Hugo wasn't like those other men in Barmond's past. Maybe he was a capable leader. Someone that Barmond could trust, even if he was concerned with other things than he was.

"So?" asked Hugo.

"Give me a moment."

Barmond took a deep breath and, when he blew the air out, he tried his best to blow away all the contradictive feelings that kept piling up in his chest. His worries. His anger. Everything was going to be all right. He could tell his paranoia to relax.

"They would resist a siege meant to starve them," said Barmond. "And I don't think it would be a good idea to have a siege in the first place because I wouldn't put it beyond them to resort to cannibalism... They wouldn't even have to, considering that I believe that the humans in there are still alive."

"You really think they are?" asked Hugo.

"Certain. If it was only one or two humans, maybe I would have my doubts, but I think that we would have found traces of their bodies. Even wolves leave the corpses of their preys behind."

"But you have no idea why they would be doing that."

"There could be many reasons why," said Barmond, "especially if we were talking about bandits - humans bandits - over harpy imps. What I'm lacking are clues that could point me in one direction or another. But I was talking about assaulting their base?"

"Yes... yes."

"If _I_ was the one with an armed forced at my orders and willing to send it in, I would still place nets over the entrances to stop them from escaping. The last thing we'd want would be for enough of them to escape for another colony to sprout. And I would attack at night, just to make sure that you catch as many as you can in there."

"But that would mean more enemies to fight off."

"Right, but a fight in tight tunnels as well. They'll lose their advantage of flight."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"And they have very no sentry. I've only seen one of them awake at night. Remember the one that almost caught us near their lair?"

"You're sure that it's the same one?"

"I'm almost certain. I've seen it again and there's something really off about that imp. If I had a little more time, I would have focused my attention on this one, in particular. Maybe I would have organised a capture."

"You said that there was no sentry, but this one is awake. What does it do?"

"As far as I can tell, it's going on walks. I'm suspecting that it might be going to Lamare, although I have no idea why it would do that. Anyhow, it doesn't look like it sticks around to watch over its sleeping comrades."

"Maybe someone else does."

"I can't tell if that is the case but, if they do, it doesn't look like they are keeping an eye on the outside of their lair. Which allows for a night attack that would take them by surprise."

Hugo nodded gravely. Barmond found that he rather enjoyed talking with Hugo like that. They saw eye-to-eye on many things and Hugo was smart, despite what Barmond had thought of him up to now. The answers were snappy and quick.

"Are you sure that your pack can handle attacking them?" asked Barmond.

"Quite. The recent attack allowed us to estimate how many of the imps could actually be dangerous. I've been talking with the locals too, you know. We shouldn't have too much trouble wiping them out, if we're careful enough, and I know that we'll be. I've trained them myself."

Barmond nodded. He still had that nagging feeling that this wasn't _it_. But, with no concrete proof, he couldn't convince Hugo to delay the attack.

"Be careful," said Barmond.

"I will?"

"Those imps are plain strange. They might have an ace up their sleeve."

Hugo's lips twisted into a half-smile. "Are you worried about me?" he asked.

"What-- No! I'm not! But if anything happens to you-- I'll tell you that I told you so."

"Even to my tombstone?"

"Don't you die."

Hugo laughed. And then he seemed about to say something to tease Barmond - the latter could see _that look_ on his face again - but suddenly he remembered. And his smile died out.

"If you die," muttered Barmond, "then I'll be blamed for it. And kicked out, probably."

"That makes no sense," said Hugo.

"Shut up."

"I won't die. Don't you worry."

"Good. Have a good night, then."

"Can't you stay a moment longer?" asked Hugo. "Just to relax and meet the others."

"I got work to do."

Hugo sighed as he rubbed his face.

"You are too serious," he said. "You need to learn to relax."

"I'll relax when this mission is over. Now, if you don't need me for anything, I'll go back to it."

Hugo hesitated but eventually shook his head, defeated. "Good night, Barmond.

There was something in his eyes... longing. There was longing when he looked at Barmond. Why was he looking at him like that? He was going to make Barmond feel bad. Like... like regret. Bad like regret. Which was ridiculous. Barmond never regretted anything.

He turned away from those eyes and walked out in the night, followed by an unusually quiet Vanja. Barmond found a resting place on the side of the road with some logs that had been left there by woodcutters. Even if it was quite dark, this was the perfect place to hear what Vanja had to say.

"Here?" said Vanja.

"Yeah. We'll be tranquil."

Vanja stayed standing. He looked at Barmond, then back at the werewolf camp, then back at Barmond.

"You know," he said, "Hugo does like you."

"I don't want to hear about it," said Barmond. "Sit down."

Vanja shrugged and did just that.

"So, let's get started."

"I already checked what was the height limit of people that could be taken," said Vanja. He showed a mark in the air. "And they can't be too heavy, or they won't be carried away. The heavier ones were always taken away using a net."

"So... mostly kids."

"Yep. But the most shocking, really, was when they swooped down and took three kids at once, from among their playmates, two brothers and a sister. The poor children were shaking as they told me about the incident."

"They only took siblings?"

"Yeah! All those kids there, some that were even smaller and easier to carry, and those imps took the little blond siblings. And, later on, when there were still kids that they could kidnap, they took the mother of those same siblings from earlier. A small woman, but still a _whole_ woman - on her way to the well! Can you believe that? Harpy imps are dumb. They would have been better off carrying smaller preys."

"No, no they aren't," said Barmond. "They are reasoning. They are putting in more efforts than they could have put because they had a _goal_. One that we don't understand."

"It's really creepy if you ask me," said Vanja. "I was having chills just looking into it. I hope they aren't doing... things. To those poor kids. The more I think about it, the more worried I am."

"You?"

"What? Just because I'm sex-crazed doesn't mean that I don't have a tender heart. That's how I write my poetry."

"No, no, that is not what I meant. You feel it. That bad feeling. That intuition."

"Of course I do!"

"Like there is more to it than what meets the eye."

Vanja hesitated. "Maybe? I don't know about those things. It's the first time that I try to pierce a mystery... well, except for that one time I figured out who was sleeping with the wife of the baron and, wouldn't you know it, it was her own servant! No wonder she was so satisfied when I knew for a fact that the baron wasn't sleeping with her-- because he was with me!"

"Lilith," said Barmond. "You're..."

"Amazing, I know. He paid me handsomely and I composed a song about the joys of sodomy, but as a metaphor. I was quite proud of it: it spoke of a waterfall plunging into the earth--"

"Vanja, please focus on the present," said Barmond.

"Hmm? Oh-- Right. Sorry, sorry."

"And don't tell me about sodomy ever again."

"Of course, Mr Straight. You and your little servant keep sleeping platonically in that honeymoon bed of yours."

Barmond narrowed his eyes.

"First, you leave Yoven out of this. Second, it's _not_ a goddamn honeymoon room!"

"Sorry, but it is." Vanja was smirking. "That's its name. You're staying at the _Duke's Lovenest_. Where do you think the Duke was taking his mistresses?"

Realisation dawned upon Barmond. He was horrified.

"Wait... You don't mean to tell me--"

"That the room you took is _the_ famous lovenest? The honeymoon room? It is. And they say that lovers that seal the deal in there are promised... well, maybe not eternal love, but at least a passionate relationship. That's why you should do it with your little Yoven as soon as possible. Who wouldn't want a lot of hot _sodomy_?"

" _Vanja, I swear to the goddess--_ "

"No hitting your informants! That's bad practice."

Barmond took a deep breath. Vanja was right. Getting mad was below him. If he could withstand Hugo's moronity, then Vanja was small game.

So he proceeded to ask Vanja all the details he could and then some, talking with him well into the night. Many times did he had to steer him back on track as the incubus rambled on but he did so with relative calm. And for every information he got out of him, every report, the feeling that something was amiss grew heavier in his stomach.

But he had no idea what it could be.


	28. The Visit

Something that succubus and incubus shared: waking him up too early in the day for him to be in a good mood.

Thankfully Yoven was in the room and awake where there was knock on the door, meaning that he was the one that went to open it while Barmond was emerging from down under. He didn't like that. He was starting to feel peckish, and that only added to the dark clouds that were already gathering over his head.

"Oh, hello misses?" said Yoven. "I'm sorry, I think you came to the wrong place, this room is already taken-- Can I help you?"

He sounded a little uncertain, maybe worried that Barmond might wake up, and was half-whispering. His interlocutor had no such consideration.

"Oh, hello!" said a female voice. "No, no, I'm quite sure that we are in the right place. Is Barmond-- Oh, I see him. Good afternoon Barmond!"

He knew this voice.

This couldn't be happening, he told himself as he slowly rose to an elbow, looking at the door. It had to be a nightmare, yet here _she_ was, standing there, a wide smile on her face, all preppy and pretty. She had dark curly hair, a pale complexion, a relatively modest dress and bright blue eyes. She was batting her lashes at him, fully knowing what she had done wrong and knowing she was going to get away with it. Because she was cute. Because she was young. And, most importantly, because she was the one and only daughter of Ranphoros.

"Lady Maggel," said Barmond.

" _Maggie_."

"What in all of Asmodeus' creation are you doing in my fucking room?"

"Oh my, swearing now? That's so naughty--"

"Answer the _fucking question._ "

"I escaped!"

She beamed at him.

Jessica chose that moment to check the inside of the room over Jessica's shoulders, raising her brows when she saw the double bed. She knew about the honeymoon room, somehow.

Barmond took a deep breath. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Took another deep breath. Then decided that there was no point starting to scream while he still was in bed, so he got out and went to put on some pants. At least it seemed to be the end of the afternoon, which didn't do much to lift his mood anyway. And he was still hungry.

"Why are you getting dressed," asked Maggie.

"Because we are bringing you to Hugo. He'll know how to deal with that."

He didn't know what else he was supposed to say but that wasn't it. Her smile disappeared instantly as she narrowed her eyes. To make her dissatisfaction even clearer, she crossed her arms _over_ her breasts - as opposed to under, to push them up. Barmond was not impressed.

"So you're telling me that I came all the way here for nothing?" she said.

"Yes?"

She huffed. Yet, instead of leaving, she came into the room, passing a helpless Yoven (that looked quite panicked at the prospect) followed by Jessica. Maggie dramatically dropped herself on the bed, sighing dramatically.

"You may close the door," said Jessica to Yoven. Then she took her place near Maggie.

Barmond almost stopped that but didn't. He had more urgent things to do.

"Maggel. Maggie," he said. "I still do not know what owes you the _pleasure_ of your visit."

"Pleasure," she repeated with a sneaky smile on her face.

" _Maggie_."

"What I just said! You keep escaping _me._ I know you want it, and I know the only thing stopping you is my Rara. So here I am, far from his city and his stupid rules." She pulled her already plunging collar a little lower. "All yours, you devastating predator."

Barmond took a deep, deep breath.

"I am not going to sleep with you."

Yoven, that was starting to catch on what the whole thing was about - and maybe even guess Maggie's true identity - gasped, then covered his mouth with his hand. But he was watching the scene unfold with eyes like saucers.

"What do you mean?" she said.

"That's a no. Yoven, if I suddenly start walking towards her, I want you to slap me as hard as you can."

"I-- I'll try my best!" he said.

"Why won't you just-- Anyone would give so much to be with me!" cried Maggie. She seemed torn between anger and distress, her emotions overruling her. "Can't you give in just once? Please? I just want a little taste-- So tiny-- I promise I'll give you blood in exchange, like with Jessica!"

Barmond, not knowing what to do with this explosion, glanced at Jessica. She had been standing near Maggie since the start, her face expressionless, but when their eyes met he had the distinct impression that she was sorry. And he chose to believe that she was because that impression was probably her communicating with him using her emphatic powers. But she did nothing to help; he was on his own.

"Now is not the time," said Barmond. "Look-- Right now, I'm working. I can't afford distractions and, even if I could... I'm not... too reassured about being fed on by a succubus. Last time wasn't the best experience."

"Is that how it is?" muttered Jessica, upset.

Oh dear.

"I'm saying that I got attacked come morning," said Barmond.

"Good, because as far as I recall, you weren't complaining about my bedding skills. Far from it."

"You know," said Maggie, "you don't have to worry. I don't really care if you are not good in bed."

"That--"

Barmond was going to say that it wasn't true, but he realized that this might come across as bragging. And if there was one thing that Barmond thought bragging about was weak, it was begging skills. Why was he even engaging in this conversation?

"We are going to Hugo," he said. " _Now_."

"But..."

" _Now_. He'll know what to do with you, young lady."

Maggie opened her mouth wide, about to say something, but had nothing to say. She closed it and crossed her arms all over again, frowning, until she had a better idea. She was now leering at Yoven, that looked like he would rather disappear under the carpet.

"Well, I guess we can just have fun with someone a bit more willing instead," she said. She crooked her finger at him. "Come to me, cutie."

"Don't you _dare_ ," said Barmond.

She started to frown, but it wasn't due to Barmond's threat. Rather, she seemed confused by something. Yoven was standing there, looking as tense as a rabbit about to pounce away from the hawk, but otherwise had no other reaction. Jessica glanced between her mistress and Yoven, then at Barmond, then back at Yoven. Maggie did the same back-and-forth, and each time she did she seemed to understand the situation a little better.

"What it is?" asked Barmond.

"I think I changed my mind," said Maggie. "Never mind."

Whatever. He didn't have the time or patience to figure out anyone's strange looks.

"As for you," said Barmond to Jessica, "what are you doing here? Encouraging her?"

"She was going to leave anyway," answered Jessica. "I'd rather be there with her if she runs into something dangerous."

"What?" said Maggie, surprised - the most surprised to hear Jessica's answer out of the four. "What are you talking about, I am careful! I never got in big danger before!"

Jessica pushed out a long, tired sigh. "Let us go to Hugo, then."

There were, of course, a few more protestations on Maggie's part but, with both Jessica and Barmond agreeing, resistance was futile. And Yoven would have helped to drag her along, if asked; for now, he seemed content with just following.

It was a good thing that the outside of the inn was in the shade, and so were most of the streets they needed to walk through. With the afternoon quite well advanced, the sun was less tough. However, Barmond knew that, with it being lower, that it might get under the brims of his hat if he wasn't paying attention. Which he would. Pain was a lesson in attention.

Yoven trotted up to him so that they would walk side by side. They had not spoken much this morning when it had been time to switch. Yoven had been sleeping heavily when Barmond had come int.

"I dreamed of you again," said Yoven. "You biting me."

"You did?" said Barmond.

He was amused. Yoven must have enjoyed it, for it to be so recurrent. It secretly pleased him, even if he did feel a little guilty that it did. But that was just a remnant of his hunter education. As a vampire - which was what he was now - he was mostly pleased. Yoven was adapting well.

"I did." Yoven chuckled, and he seemed embarrassed. "And you, how did you sleep?"

"Well, I guess." Barmond looked over his shoulder, at Maggie and Jessica that were trailing just behind. "It could have been better."

Maggie pretended as if she was repeating his words but in an annoying tone. She was that upset. Jessica rolled her eyes.

"Oh, Maggie," said Yoven, "please cheer up. We'll pass on the marketplace soon, and today Vanja and his troupe are giving a show. You'll see, he has a wonderful presence on the scene."

Right as Yoven said that, there was a cheer in the distance.

"Oh, he must be finished," said Yoven. "That's too bad."

They turned the corner and arrived on the marketplace. And, even if it wasn't market day anymore, there was a sizable crowd gathered there, in front of a wooden stage. On it were some actors, among which - in the very centre - stood Vanja, fiddle on the shoulder, clad in ostensibly bright clothes.

He bowed one last time. He was, indeed, a natural when it came to standing in the middle of everyone's attention, his confidence unwavering.

"Is that Vanja?" asked Maggie.

"Why, yes," said Yoven. "It's the man standing in the middle. He's very nice, very helpful."

Vanja rose his head and his eyes met Barmond's. Looking a little surprised, he looked at the rest of those that were with him and his eyes stopped on Maggie. They stayed there as he handed over his fiddle to Clement - blindly, leaving Clement to grapple so that it wouldn't fall to the ground.

He jumped off the stages and the crowd parted in front of him as he slowly, dramatically, walked up to her. His eyes were intense. He had an awestruck smile.

Barmond looked at Maggie and she had her hands joined in front of her chest, looking just as awestruck as Vanja. In fact, she was opening her lashes at him, going out of her way to look at cute as she could.

As for Barmond, he was frozen in place. He couldn't tear his eyes from the absolute disaster that was happening in front of him.

"Are you an angel?" asked Vanja.

Maggie didn't respond. Instead, she turned pink and giggled like a teenage girl. Vanja dropped to one knee. If he was putting on a show, this had to be his Magnus Optus, his best interpretation of a love-struck boy.

"You are," he said, looking up to her. "You came here to bring heaven to me. What is your name?"

"Maggel," said Maggie, in a voice that was way to high-pitched compared to her usual tone. "But y-you can call me... Maggie."

"Maggie! What a gorgeous-- What a magnificent name! And yet it is nothing - nothing! - compared to your celestial grace."

He reached for her hand and she gave it to him instantly. He kissed its back, slowly, like this was the single most precious thing he had been given to touch in his life. She gasped and turned redder. They seemed completely unaware of the crowd that had gathered around them, watching them.

Barmond looked at Jessica for help but she just shrugged. Great. She was _useless_. So he turned to Yoven, that looked extremely confused by what was happening.

"Get Hugo," he said. "Now. It's an _emergency_."

Yoven nodded furiously, then started to run towards the werewolf camp.

Meanwhile, Vanja was busy kissing a trail up Maggie's arm, making his way to his face and the lovely lips that she was hiding behind her other hand. She couldn't stop giggling and fretting, her bad mood so forgotten that it was buried six feet under.

"All right," said Barmond, "that's quite enough."

He pulled away Vanja's hold on Maggie, stepping between them. Maggie gasped and backed off, but Vanja stood to his full height, looking outraged.

"A rival? You, Barmond?" he cried like he was in a play.

What a fucking idiot, thought Barmond.

"No, I'm not. Trust me. Forget that you ever saw her."

"Never! How can I?"

Barmond rolled his eyes and turned around to tell Maggie that they were going to Hugo now. But she was gone. He followed Jessica's gaze and turned around once more. Maggie was in Vanja's arms and he was spinning her like a bride on her marriage day.

Deep breath. Deep breath. Breathing helps. A lot.

"No!" cried Barmond, chasing after them.

They sidestepped him without even sparing a glance at him, focused as they were on the other's face. Barmond tried again and failed just as poorly. There were a few laughs from the crowd.

"Oh by the Godde-- By God," swore Barmond. "Fine. Fine! I give up."

Jessica shrugged at him from the wayside, except that this time it was in sympathy to his plight. He went to stand next to her. Clement, still with the fiddle in hand, started to play a waltz, on which they danced.

Hugo arrived running, visible from far with how he towered over everyone present. He looked serious and focused-- until he saw what was happening.

Somehow, Barmond knew he was going to burst in laughter before he did. What could he say? He was starting to know Hugo quite well, which didn't give him a pass. So Barmond gestured at the stupid bafoon, signalling that he _had_ to do something to stop this disaster. Something in Barmond's face only made Hugo laugh harder.

" _Hugo!_ " screamed Barmond.

Hugo nodded, unable to stop. There were tears trapped between his lashes as he was doing his best to catch his breath. Yoven arrived by his side shortly after, also out of breath although for an entirely different reason. He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees.

Hugo finally broke through the crowd, shoving people - somewhat gently - out of his way when they didn't move fast enough. He fearlessly jumped in the circle that had formed around the happy couple and placed his hands on his hips. Just by this simple gesture, he had drawn everyone's attention to him, including Barmond's.

The vampire sighed to himself. It wasn't fair. Some guys just had it all, didn't they? He wished he was only half as charismatic as Hugo.

"Hugo," said Maggie. Squeaked, rather, looking like she would rather be anywhere else - with Vanja.

"What is the meaning of this."

"Hugo, he's like me!" she cried. "He's the first like me I see-- That's a man!"

Barmond heard Jessica mutter under her breath next to him. "That's what happens when you shelter your daughter," she said.

But Maggie had turned her attention to Vanja once more, love in her eyes.

"He's so beautiful," she said. "I think that I love him!"

"Never have I see someone as beautiful as she," said Vanja. "She is wonderful... perfect."

"No," said Hugo.

He stepped in. The sex menaces tried to escape him together but he was faster, grabbing Maggie by the waist and hauling her over his shoulder. The crowd gasped, unsure of what was happening.

"It's all right," said Hugo at them. "The lass will be fine, and so will the lad-- Nothing to see here."

"Sirrah!" cried Vanja. "Brutish lump! My rapier!"

One of Vanja's goons came running, bringing him a rapier in its sheath. The incubus drew it dramatically, posing like he was a duelist - but with his feet position wrong, noted Barmond.

Hugo chuckled at the show. Barmond, that really couldn't see what was so funny, stepped between the two.

"It's enough now," said Barmond. "Vanja, drop this charade."

"Stay out of this, snake!"

"Barmond," said Hugo.

Barmond turned around. Hugo threw him the shortsword he had just unhooked from around his waist, still in its sheath. Barmond caught it by the belt.

"Take care of this, will you?" said Hugo. "Got my hands full."

"My heart is torn to shreds!" cried Maggie to high heavens.

She was just as melodramatic as Vanja, if not more. Really, they deserved each other. Except when Ranphoros would find out that another incubus had approached his one and only daughter after she had escaped his watch and would blow a fuse. Which was why they needed to be apart as much as possible.

"Sure," said Barmond.

He took out his cape and dropped his hat over the pile it made on the ground, quickly, even if Vanja was waiting for him. Then he pulled out the swordshord. The weight of the weapon felt familiar in his hand. Something in the way he positioned himself seemed to worry Vanja, even if doubt only transpired on his face for a fraction of a second.

"Move out of the way," said Vanja. "We are not enemies. You do not have to do this."

"Put your weapon down," said Barmond. "And give up. She's the only daughter of our employer."

He frowned, then seemed to realize what that was about.

"I'll be at the camp if anyone needs me," said Hugo before turning away. "We're moving tonight, got other things to do."

That spurred Vanja into action

He pounced in Hugo's direction and Barmond didn't think: he threw himself between the two. There was a gasp from the crowd when the blade went right through Barmond's clothes and planted itself in the flesh of his chest. On his right side. It was sharp, sharp enough that it sank to the level of the bone. Then, as the blade straightened, slicing through flesh, opening a gash at his side.

A gash that didn't bleed. That hurt like all hell, but Barmond had survived worse. And now Vanja's side was left open.

Disarming with Hugo's blade was a matter of seconds. The rapier clanged on the pavement, and Barmond's blade was at Vanja's throat. The latter, knowing when he was defeated, rose his hands in the air as a sign of submission.

"You shouldn't use your props to fight," said Barmond. "It might destroy them."

Not that it had been a prop. The wound Vanja had left on his chest was very real. But if he didn't say that, how else was he going to explain the fact that there was no blood? He was a vampire, after all, and luckily all of that had occurred in the shade of some high buildings.

"Hmpf," said Vanja. "This is not the last you'll hear of me on the subject."

"I'm sorry," said Barmond, "but I had to stop you before you do something stupid. She's sort of... not supposed to be here."

"Oh?" said Vanja, sending an interested glance in the direction where Hugo had left. "So it was destiny that united us."

" _No_."

"Hmm." Vanja picked up his weapon and sheathed it. "Say what you will. I'll find a way."

"You are such a bother," said Barmond with a sigh. "Fine. Get yourself skinned if you want."

"See you around. No hard feelings?"

"Nothing personal."

Barmond turned away from him, gathering his clothes on the ground as he left. Even the crowd was starting to dissipate as they realized that the show was truly over. He quickly spotted Yoven a little to the side. He was still out of breath, sitting on the ground against a wall. Strange.

"You're all right there?"

Yoven looked up and smiled at him. "You?"

"I've seen worse. You did well. Let's get you back at the inn."

Barmond offered his free hand and hauled Yoven to his feet.

His legs suddenly gave in under him. Barmond caught him out of reflex more than an intentional gesture, receiving all of his weight against him as he fainted.

"Yoven!"

Right against his cheek was Yoven's neck. That is when he smelled it: the faint but distinct smell of stale blood.


	29. The Bloodless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the rating of the story to M. Not that it means that I changed whatever I have planned for it. It's just that I am considering if M wasn't more appropriate this whole time, considering the proportion of adult scenes in this compared to the rest.

Because of what had happened just before, there was a hesitation when it came to helping Barmond. Of all people, it was Vanja that rushed in first, helping Barmond to lay Yoven on his cape on the ground. His hands were cold, freezing.

Barmond knew they would be.

"We need to get him back to the inn," he said to Vanja.

"It's all right," said Yoven, trying to get back up. He was immediately held down by the shoulders by Barmond. "I'm fine. I've just been a little tired, lately."

Vanja looked at Barmond with accusing eyes. He had already guessed with Yoven might be weak. And, of course, the logical reason for that was to think that it was Barmond's fault, seeing as he was the only vampire he knew of. But it was not so.

As long as he helped to bring Yoven back to the inn.

And he did it, single-handedly almost. The villagers suddenly seemed eager to land a hand to the one they had been observing suspiciously moments ago, but Barmond knew that it was due to Vanja manipulating their mood. Such was the power of an incubus over humans: subtle, but impressive. So, in doubt, Barmond gave all of the credit for the operation to Vanja.

He even dismissed them with no question asked once Yoven was brought to the bed, closing the door behind them. Barmond wished he had such power.

Vanja had stayed.

"Okay, spill it out," he said, hands on his hips. "You've been overdrinking, haven't you?"

"It's not me," said Barmond.

"Who else?"

"What is happening to me?" asked Yoven. He had been very good up to that point but it was obvious that he couldn't stand it any longer. He was simply too worried.

Barmond, compelled to reassure him, approached him and sat on a stool near the bed. He took his hand. Oh, Goddess, it was so cold, even for Barmond's dead hands. It broke his heart. It angered him. He hid all of it in front of Vanja. When in public, he realised how easily he slipped into his... affection for Yoven. Like a warm bath.

He'd think about what it means for him later.

"Someone has been taking your blood," said Barmond. "While I was gone."

"What?" Yoven gasped and tried to get up. Barmond helped him adjust himself on the pillows. "Another vampire?"

"I smell him on you."

"I mean, I was the one asking the question first," grumbled Vanja. "But sure, stay in your little bubble."

He was just jealous no one was paying attention to him, justified Barmond to himself.

"But... when..." said Yoven.

"You left the window open on the first floor. That's the first thing a vampire looks for when looking for prey. Taking blood in one's sleep is... easier than you would think. That is also probably why you were dreaming about me so much."

Yoven made a face. The news seemed to displease him quite a bit.

"That's rude," he quietly said.

"A bit more than that, Yoven, but you'll get there eventually," said Vanja. "Any idea who that might be?"

"No, I don't have any," said Barmond. "But we'll find out soon, if they come by one more time tonight."

"You're going to _wait for them,_ " said Vanja.

"It's personal now," said Barmond.

"Oh God," said Vanja. "Asmodeus, Lilith, save me... Wait, not you Lilith. Take care of your child first, he's going to get himself killed."

"A vampire can talk to another vampire," said Barmond. "I might be half-blood, but I am still part of a clan that I can call upon to see that my property is not meddled with."

Or... at the very least, he could threaten to do so. He wasn't sure his sire would actually accept the fact that Barmond had taken a red retainer for himself, much less defend him. But that other vampire didn't know that, necessarily.

"Shouldn't we talk to Hugo about that?" said Vanja.

It would be the most reasonable and Barmond knew it. But... Hugo was going to attack that vampire for him, then someone would be protecting him because he was _weak_. And he would be protecting Yoven.

"He has other things to do," said Barmond.

"He's going to die, Lilith," said Vanja. "Strike him down with your shadowy claws right about now or something."

"It's a final," said Barmond.

"I know!"

"Is it really going to be okay?" asked Yoven.

"I won't let them hurt you again," said Barmond.

Vanja sighed. "You guys..."

Vanja stayed with them, for some reason, despite his constant groaning and moaning about their impending doom. Barmond kept rolling his eyes. It wasn't quite as dramatic as he liked to paint it. After all, it wasn't as if Barmond was going to stop him or her from drinking blood from all the humans in Lamare, just _this specific human_ , that happened to be a red retainer in a vulnerable position. And even if Barmond was on the vampire's hunting territory, it wasn't as if Barmond had been hunting any other human.

Even if he wanted to, at the moment. He passed his tongue over his sheathed fangs. His hunger was still in check, for now. He still had some time.

Goddess, did he want to hurt that other vampire for what he had done to Yoven. Barmond had done the math as he had watched Yoven eat: he had been bitten three times in two days. It was a miracle that he was still alive, even after two times. Sure, Yoven was very weak. It still didn't add up.

And why would the vampire come back two nights in a row? Did they not know that this could kill their prey like that? Unless they did not care about such things... That was a chilling thought. Barmond's hunter training was begging him to study the case in-depth, to determine if they would pose a threat to the inhabitants of Lamare. He knew he did not have the time for that. Even if he did, he was a vampire now. He had given into the envy. It was not his business anymore.

Yoven went to bed. It was on Vanja's insistence that they hid themselves a little, him under the bed and Barmond against the wall in which there was the window the vampire would use to come in. He did so only because he thought it would cease Vanja's complaining. He was wrong. Vanja complained about the dust under the bed for a while. He stopped when Yoven started to excuse himself profusely, blaming himself for being too weak to clean properly earlier.

Barmond told them to be quiet.

Yoven fretted for a while. He knew that he was bait. And he could tell, even if Barmond had not told him so much, that one more bite from a vampire might be the last nail in his coffin. But he somehow managed to fall asleep, his breath calming and drawing out.

Barmond watched him. They had left the curtains drawn back, letting the moonlight and the wind poured into the room to their convenience. They brushed the human's pale cheeks. He really was beautiful. Barmond almost dismissed that thought as soon as it came but, instead, he grabbed it, so elusive, and tried to understand where it came from. Was he something else than he thought he was?

The threads of his thoughts fell apart in his hands. He simply... could not grasp it inside of him. Yet, he knew that it was there. Why had he buried it so deeply? When he looked, he could have sworn that there was nothing but the moment he looked away he could have sworn that he could see something in the corner of his mind's eye. A shimmer. Something.

Not yet. He wasn't ready quite yet.

His thoughts were cut short when a large form landed on the windowsill right next to him.

Barmond froze, and slowly turned his head, but he already knew what he was about to see. Large black wings folding over a humanoid back. A crooked profile. Small eyes were turned away from him, towards the bed.

The imp, the one that Barmond had been suspicious of, hopped to the ground with unusual grace and hobbled over to the bed. Its shadow fell upon the unsuspecting, sleeping Yoven.

Barmond lept across the room, knife in hand. He didn't make a single sound but his lips were drawn back to reveal his fangs. Boundless fury raged inside his empty chest. Or rather, it was a beast that had awoken, a beast that would usually cry out for blood instead.

_No one touched Yoven._

The imp heard Barmond coming and turned around, too fast even for a creature like that. And when their eyes met, had a mouth full of four fangs.

The imp _hissed_ like the vampire it was.

Barmond plunged its knife towards its chest. The imp caught his wrist and held it in mid-air, using its strength to stop it. But it didn't stop Barmond from using his momentum to shove the creature against the bed. Yoven awoke with a startled cry. There was a muffled "eep" from under it.

Barmond could not see anything but his opponent.

That is why he missed the moment where Yoven grabbed a pillow to slam it on the imp's face. But the moment it happened, he had his hand on it, pressing it down with all of his strength. And, with the imp immobilised, this was Barmond's chance.

He bit down on the imp's puny neck, sinking his teeth in cold flesh.

There are only four things that can kill a vampire: decapitation, sunlight, fire, and other vampires. So Barmond endured the claws of the imp tearing through the back of his clothes, the kicking, the frantic scream, and drew a long sip out of the creature. He did so with no hesitation as if he would be plunging a stake in a heart.

The intoxicating scent of supernatural blood clouded his senses and, this one time, he leat his deepest, darkest desires set loose. The imp screamed in pain, or horror, who knew, but Barmond didn't let go, he wanted more, he wanted _all_ of it. Blood, that might have belonged to Yoven, was syphoned up his fangs with unnatural vigour, then disappeared.

The imp was becoming weaker.

_"Enough," said Otto. He tore Barmond away from him, tossing him on the cold ground with ease. "You're undead now, that's enough."_

_Barmond's senses were muddled. He didn't understand. He had been so peaceful. Had died. And now he was torn back from bliss into this base, painful world like an animal. And he needed more. More of what Otto could give him, this delicious liquid that dripped from his wrist..._

_"Out of my sight, beast," said Otto._

_A boot connected with Barmond's face._

_"Take him away," said Otto. "Chain him until he knows how to behave. Him? A proper vampire? I would rather die."_

_He turned away. And Barmond screamed in pain, fighting against the hands that dragged him away. He needed more, more of--_

The blood of the sire.

He knew it from the moment he tasted it. The flavour exploded on his tongue. It punched him in the guts. It wrecked him, tore him apart. It was pain and bliss all in one, he had known this sensation from the day he had been reborn as a vampire. This was more than blood, this was _an essence_.

The imp screamed one last time and went limp under him.

Barmond was shaking. He didn't realise that he was sobbing as well until Yoven drew him into his arms, close to his chest, in the same way than during their first meeting. He curled against him, holding on his clothes.

He was aware that he was pathetic. Yoven was the one that had been attacked and he was the one being soothed. But he couldn't help it. He felt it all again: the pain of not being whole, that terrible pain he had taken years to overcome. It was more than something physical. It was the ghost pain of a limb he had never possessed, the pain of being half.

Half-blood.

"I'm sorry," muttered Barmond, pushing against Yoven's embrace. "Are you all right? It didn't hurt you?"

"I'm fine. Thanks to you. That was the vampire?"

Barmond looked at the imp on the sheets. The pillow on its face had slipped away, revealing a face frozen in a twisted, fanged grimace. It was a corpse now, as it should be.

"Not anymore," said Barmond.

"Barmond," said Yoven.

That made the other look at him. Yoven was staring at his face. Even in his weakened state, his heart was beating so strongly that Barmond could hear it distinctly. Yoven placed a hand on Barmond's cheek. His eyes kept shifting from one eye to the other. He was leaning in.

Barmond didn't move as he got so, so close. Close enough that their lips met.

"Imps can be vampires?" asked Vanja, poking his head from over the side of the bed.

They jerked away from each other, Barmond even standing. Yoven covered his mouth, as if that would erase the burning imprints he had left on Barmond's.

"Oh fuck--" said Vanja, looking quite pleased with the sight. "Don't mind me-- Please _do_ carry on."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what took me--" said Yoven. "I didn't mean... Not like that. I'm sorry--"

"Yoven," said Barmond.

"Oh dear," said Vanja. "You haven't told him yet?"

"Told him what?" asked Barmond.

"I'm sorry," said Yoven.

"That's not what it was," said Vanja.

"Please, forget about it," said Yoven to Barmond. "It's not important."

"Yoven... Do you mean to tell me that you love me?" asked Barmond.

Yoven covered the lower part of his face with both of his hands. He was staring down at the sheets for ten full seconds, in silence. Then, finally, he sighed. When he looked up at Barmond again, there was so much uncertainty in his eyes.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know what I really feel."

"Oh," said Vanja, "I can tell. It's--"

"Vanja," said Barmond. "Shut up."

The incubus, surprisingly, kept his mouth shut. Barmond sat back on the bed and picked up one of Yoven's hands in his.

"I don't know as well," he said in a hushed tone to Yoven. "I have no idea what I am feeling. But we can figure things out at our own pace."

Yoven gave him a curt nod and a slower, relieved smile. He looked so happy. At peace.

"Now kiss," whispered Vanja.

"This is why we can't have good things, Vanja," muttered Barmond.

Yoven chuckled.

Barmond turned around, but his eyes landed on the imp behind him on the bed. That is when it struck him.

"Hugo," he said.

"I agree," said Vanja. "He's just as ugly as this stupid imp. I hate him too."

Barmond got up. "Hugo is attacking the lair tonight."

"With other vampires in it?" asked Yoven.

Barmond looked back at him. "This one was a half-blood like me."

"How do you know?" asked Vanja.

"It-- It had no powers. Nothing it used against me. And I tasted... I can't explain it. We felt the same pain. Its sire must be..."

A wave of dread washed over him. He could see it now. All the pieces of the puzzle were falling in place in front of his very eyes.

Hugo was in danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barmond: "It's fine, I'll just talk it out with the vampire."  
> The vampire: approaches Yoven.  
> Barmond: "So you have chosen death."


	30. The Forgotten

"Barmond, Barmond-- wait," said Vanja.

He hurried after Barmond. He had caught up to him as he was crossing the marketplace, that was now empty, but Barmond barely slowed to allow him to do so. He had only grabbed Hugo's shortsword from his room and had left without saying a word. He had to get to the camp-- he hoped the other had not left yet.

"Barmond," said Vanja.

"Why are you following me now?" said Barmond. "You should remain with Yoven. This is going to be dangerous."

"And you're rushing in without a clear mind," said Vanja.

"I'm fine."

"You just had your first kiss!"

Barmond stopped in his tracks.

"I mean," said Vanja, "your first kiss with a man. Are you sure you're all right? You can talk to me."

"It's not my first kiss," said Barmond.

"Well, I didn't mean to imply that-- I said it's your first kiss _with a man_."

"It's not," said Barmond.

"Pardon?"

Barmond pressed his fingers to his temple, staring out in the emptiness.

"It's not," he repeated, lost in thoughts. "How could I forget this?"

"Erm, Barmond?" said Vanja. "You sort of lost me here."

"I was... I think I was fifteen. He was my man-servant and-- and we kissed." He looked straight at Vanja. "Those were my first kisses."

"Barmond, you're not making any sense. You already kissed a man?"

"We were both boys."

"But then how come... you're not making _any sense_. I thought you thought you had no idea you liked guys!"

"It's not making any sense! Why would I forget... His name was Heinrich. Heinrich. He was my best friend."

Barmond was looking at Vanja but he didn't see him, he was looking at Henrisch's face instead. A pale, blond boy with hands that seemed too large for his arms and the most awkward smiles. They had gotten into every possible trouble together since they were small. And then... they had become closer than what a servant and a master should become. Closer than what two men should be.

"My mother," said Barmond. "She was the one that caught us."

"And then what happened?" asked Vanja.

"He was sent away. To work on a farm, and I stayed. I felt so terrible about myself. I had ruined everything. My parents hated me. Well, my mother always had. I wasn't her child, so she was more than glad that she had an excuse to hate me. But my father... I couldn't look at him in the face. He couldn't stand me. I wanted to repair my mistake so much that I remembered wishing for my own death."

"Is that why you can't admit that you're bisexual?" asked Vanja.

"I'm not-- I'm--" Barmond stopped himself and took a deep breath. "It was a mistake. A youth's mistake."

"Barmond. Barmond, look at me."

Barmond looked up, in Vanja's eyes. It wasn't until a wave of soothing calm washed over him that he realised that he had been getting worked up over it, his breathing becoming erratic.

"Thank you," he said.

"We can talk about that a bit more later," said Vanja. "Right now, we need to go and see Hugo, I think? You were so adamant about it."

"Right-- Right. Let's go."

The camp wasn't too far off. Barmond's head was buzzing with thoughts. There were many things he had not told Vanja about this affair, things he wanted to keep to himself. He recalled how much he had hated himself for falling in the temptation. And how, shortly after it had been revealed, he had been disowned and sent to the vampire hunters.

Presumably to die. For having kissed a boy.

He had forgotten it, throughout the years. The things he thought he would never forget had just... slipped out of his mind when he had become certain that it was just a youth's mistake. It had been a blessing that way, after all. It had been so painful at the time, even if it wouldn't be the last time Barmond suffered.

As he had feared, the werewolf camp was empty. Well, save for a single, well-known young woman that was poking at the dying fire with a stick. She looked up from the fire and Barmond heard Vanja gasp in delight.

Maggie got up to her feet. Barmond raised a hand to stop Vanja from going to her.

"Oh come on," said Vanja. "Don't you have other things to do?"

Barmond looked at Vanja, then at Maggie. She was slowly walking over, batting her eyelashes in rapid succession - probably to appear cuter, which was working. Vanja was right: Barmond didn't have the time to police Vanja and Maggie's frequentations, nor could he ask of Vanja to come with him in the lair just to make sure that he didn't see some succubus. Even if that succubus just happened to be Maggie, daughter of Ranphoros.

"After everything I've done for you?" said Vanja. "I was ready to put my life on the line for you just a few moments ago. Can't you just... look the other way for tonight?"

Barmond sighed. Maybe it was a bad idea, but it wasn't as if he had a choice at the moment. There wasn't even a werewolf left at the camp to guard Maggie.

"All right," said Barmond. "But--"

"Yes!" Cried Maggie, air-punching.

" _But_ don't let Hugo catch you," said Barmond. "He might have expected you to be approached anyway, Maggie, but I need to make it clear: if Ranphoros learns that you two have been, frequenting, he won't be happy."

Or so did Barmond assume, and so far Hugo's actions had only confirmed it.

"Oh, I'm an expert at that," said Vanja. "One doesn't live the life that I live without having a few skills in their arsenal."

Maggie giggled excitedly.

"Spare me the details," said Barmond. "You two stay put."

Not wishing to waste a moment more, Barmond turned around and headed to the forest.

"Thank you, Barmond!" cried Maggie. "You're very nice for a vampire!"

Barmond threw her a glance over his shoulder, confused. What was that supposed to mean?

Whatever. He had some extra blood to spend from what he had taken from the imp, compensating for his lack of recent meal. It seemed that the imp wasn't capable of storing a lot of blood in his stomach. Even if Barmond's ability to forcefully drain blood to the last drop, he just had enough to sate him. That might explain why Yoven had survived three drains in a row as well.

If he had not survived...

Barmond thought back to the brief feeling of his lips on his and smiled. He was glad that Yoven was all right.

The trek through the forest was quick when Barmond rushed along the way. He wasn't trying to be discreet. He knew that there would be no imps in the sky tonight if Hugo executed his plan right. Worst-case scenario, he ran into them on their way there - but would it really be the worst-case scenario if that meant that he could catch them before they got in?

They had left someone behind to watch the way. He must have been partially hidden on the astral plane for Barmond to not have noticed them until they stepped in his way. Barmond slowed his trot to a walk but didn't stop.

"I need to get through," he said to the sentinel. "It's urgent."

The werewolf was more of a boy than a man, at least in Barmond's eyes. It made sense that he would be the one left behind during the attack, in this case. He seemed to recognize Barmond, even if the latter didn't even know his name, and stepped aside without a word. Barmond took it as meekness. He'd be intimidated too if he was a young werewolf meeting a vampire in the middle of a dark forest.

The fact that they had left a sentinel behind must mean that they were in the lair, he thought.

His intuition was right, something he realised when he came around the last bend in the path and caught a clear sight of the cliff face in which the lair was hidden. There was a net over the few openings that had been determined as leading to the imp's nest and ropes leading up to them. Barmond looked up and saw a face in the entrance. That startled him, but then he realised that it was just one of the werewolves holding a lantern.

Barmond grabbed one of the ropes and started to climb to the lair, making quick work of the distance that he had to cross.

"What are you doing here?" said the werewolf at the entrance. She lifted the net to allow him passage. "Hugo said--"

"I've just come out of a sight with a vampire imp," said Barmond right out the bat. "We've been fooled since the start, I need to get to him and warn him now."

"A vampire... imp?"

"Vampirism isn't only limited to humans."

Barmond grabbed the lantern in the werewolf's hand - he was not stopped and rushed down the tunnel, knowing that he had given enough information for the werewolf to be on her guards.

The tunnels leading down were tight enough that Barmond had to be careful not to bump his head on the ceiling. He smelled the fire before he turned around and spotted the other pack members, or at least some of them.

They were standing in a somewhat larger room. Two of them were holding torches up hight, to try and ward off the imps flapping against the ceiling in their panic. The others were in their werewolf form, and Barmond had to stop to take them in. They were, indeed, impressive creatures.

A werewolf could choose to pick a shape, when they shifted, between their human one and their wolf one. In that form, they stood on their back feet, which allowed them to use their hands to grab and hold down as they tore through flesh with their powerful maw.

One of the imps was getting gutted alive when Barmond passed the bend, screaming as it desperately clawed in the direction of a smaller corpse that laid a little further. Even as it fragile bones cracked under the weight of the werewolf on top of it, it cared for nothing else but the little bundle.

Her child, understood Barmond.

Right as that thought occurred to him, another werewolf pounced and swiftly tore her head off, stopping her screams. The newcomer then snapped her jaws at the one that had been torturing the imp, clearly reprimanding them for losing time, before they both turned to the remaining imps.

Barmond thought that he was about to throw up. He closed his eyes for a second to recover his calm. Of course he should have expected this level of violence out of the nest clear-out. This was not the first time that he was partaking in a fight to the death. It has simply caught him off guard.

The ones with the torches suddenly seemed to realise that he was there and turned to him. Barmond flinched and rose his hands when the fire approached him.

"I need to see Hugo," said Barmond. "There was a vampire-imp in the town and it came from this nest."

They seemed about to dispute what he had just said but Barmond had lost enough time. He slipped between them, looking down at his feet so that he wouldn't trip on the imps corpses that littered the ground, and crossed the room.

With no light, it would have been impossible for him to see. But all around him, in galleries and rooms, there were lights bouncing off the walls. If he looked, he would be greeted with visions of mad violence, bared teeth, claws, and terrified animal screams. An imp pounced on him at the turn of a gallery, having just escaped its death at the maws of a werewolf. The best Barmond could give it was a swift death at the end of Hugo's shortsword. Barmond informed its pursuer of the situation and moved on.

No sign of Hugo.

The tunnels under there were vast and many seemed too small for a human to move through comfortably. Knowing which rooms had been used by imps and which had been left deserted was easy, even when the air was soaked as it was with the smell of blood and gore, because of the imp's strong scent.

"Where is Hugo?" he asked one of the untransformed werewolves, out of frustration. "I need to see him."

"Lunar plane," she said.

Barmond stormed off in frustration. Since the moment he had entered the caverns, it was like he was floating in another space. Underground spaces, especially the ones that were untamed like those ones, always did that to him. The shrieks of pain, the tumult of a one-sided fight, all that bounced off the walls all wrong, skewing his perception of the space around him and turning it on its head.

There were caves in the back that were untouched.

He knew that there was something off about the tunnel the moment he passed in front of him. That vague sense of danger, the one that had been nagging him about the strange imp, had gone off at full blast as he passed in front of it. But it was only after the third time that he realised that he needed to go in there. He could smell piss and shit.

The imps always did that outside.

Barmond rushed up the tunnel, lantern in front so that he might not trip on the uneven ground. He didn't even slow down when the gallery became tighter, dangerously tight for him, he just walked like a crab until he emerged in a room.

At first, it was impossible to tell how big it was. Barmond raised his lantern to see, but ultimately he saw better with his ears than his eyes. There were living breathing beings in the back, a whole group of them with hearts drumming in fear. The smell of human sweat and crass was now added to the one of shit.

"Don't worry," said Barmond. "I'm here to help."

He took a slow step forward. That's when he heard the snipping sound of a match being lit, and a small flame flickered. Barmond spotted a circle of spectral faces all around it, with deep dark eyes looking right at him. Then the match went down and lit a candle, weakening only to come back stronger.

"Oh Goddess," said Barmond.

The match was passed among them, lighting some more candles that had been snuffed out when they had heard him come up. That gave Barmond the light he needed to see. The chamber in which he stood was made of raw rock, with all the sharp angles it entailed. It was relatively wide near the entrance, a man of his height could stand with no constraints, but it became claustrophobically tight near the back, with low ceilings and tiny ramifications. It was there that the prisoners were gathered, their limbs curled up against their frail bodies, scrunched up like discarded pieces of parchment in the slits of the rock, cupping their candles in their hands. They looked like apparitions from another world, spirits of the rock that breathed and moved. The sight was eerie.

How long had they been sitting there with nothing but the fragile light of their candles to see each other's faces? In the dark, against the cold rock. There were children among them, more than just one or two, even if they look a lot older than they should with the look they had on their face.

"You're safe now," said Barmond. "You're free, we're going to bring you back to your homes."

He approached them. He could now see all of them so he counted. That was all fifteen of humans that had been reported missing, alive. Their golden hair shimmered in the light of the candles, and suddenly he _saw_ the golden hair all around him. Some had it darker, some lighter, but they were all distinctly blond, he could see it in the weak light.

Realisation hit him like a fist to the stomach. He had been standing there before, not in this place, but in front of a similar gathering. He knew what they were right away.

This was a vampire's red retainer herd.

There was a collective gasp but no sound behind him. Barmond turned around anyway, rising his lantern to take a better look.

There was a woman. A very pale, blond woman. She must have dropped from a crack in the ceiling.

She wore nothing but a pair of dark, close to the skin pants - she didn't even have a ribbon to tie back her golden hair. Her eyes were of a piercing blue. She was beautiful, although a soft type of beauty, as if glowing from the inside. But the most striking parts of her were her wide, brown eyes, with lashes so long they seemed to make her eyelids heavier to carry. They were more doe than human.

His blood froze in his stomach as he recognized her. How could he ever forget such a face?

"Hello there, little hunter," said Aurora. "Barmond, I think it was? Don't move."

He tried to move, but he couldn't. That is when he realized that she was used her power on him, the one of hypnotism. She was a master at that after all.

"I see..." she said. "Seems you've made yourself into more than you deserve to be since I last saw you. But don't you worry... I'll make your death quick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pro-tip: ctrl+F in any browser on a computer and search for the name Aurora in the full text of the story if you don't remember who she is. 
> 
> You're welcome.


	31. The Gaze

Barmond couldn't move. Barmond _knew_ that he couldn't possibly move. Yet he tried anyway, and his muscle refuses. He couldn't even speak.

Aurora took a few steps in his direction, slowly, her eyes never leaving his. She wasn't even acting in a predatory way - she walked with all the leisure in the world, knowing that her prey couldn't possibly escape her even if he wanted.

He knew her well. Why, he had been assigned to know everything he could learn about her. He knew that she only took blond red retainers, yet that none could compare to the gold of her locks. He knew that she had been a wandering vampire for years of unknown origin, condemned to live away from every clan as a vagabond. She had killed in the past, and quite a lot, otherwise he never would have watched her as a vampire hunter.

He knew that she was cruel and vicious. That she was smart.

"Anything to say?" she asked.

His jaw suddenly unscrewed. That was the extent of a vampire's true power. She had not even uttered a single word and he was at her mercy, just because he had made the mistake of looking into her eyes.

"Why imps?" he asked.

"Because why not?" she said. "They are susceptible to my powers and lot more impressionable than humans. Organising them was a bit of a hassle at the beginning, but they are smart creatures."

She didn't elaborate more than that. It seemed that something had caught her attention. She moved in, closer, close enough that she almost touched him. And to have a woman that was practically naked so close to Barmond usually would have turned him on. Instead, he was terrified because he knew what she was capable of.

She took in a long, long breath.

"You've seen my child," she said. "That means that she is probably not alive."

He was not allowed to answer.

"She was very helpful," added Aurora. "Just like you were to your sire, hmm?"

She knew that he wasn't a full vampire. He guessed that the ease with which she had overpowered him had given that away.

"I'm not getting out of here," she said. "I know that. I'm strong, but eventually those damn mutts will sniff me out. So, really, I'm just having a lovely chat with you until one walks up the gallery. And then I will kill you. In front of the kids."

She grabbed Barmond by the chin as she made him turn around to make him face the humans. They looked ghastly, wide-eyed and with their jaw hanging in silent terror for those that were looking. Barmond saw some of the younger children with their face pressed against a woman's curled legs, and she had her arms around them in a futile attempt to protect them.

"Women and children," said Aurora. "What wonderful things, don't you think? What do you think of my hoard? That's what the imps have given me to appease me."

She wasn't looking at him in the eye, and so he started to feel the influence that she had on him - it was like an iron cast that surrounded his mind. But the fact that he could feel it meant that he could start to fight it, and he unglued his jaws to speak once more.

"Is there a reason you lead us to Lazarev?"

He had always wanted to ask her that.

"What is that?" she asked, pulling him by the chin so that he would look at her again. "Hmm. You are a lot calmer than I thought you would be. Asking me questions instead of begging for your life."

He was a lot calmer than he should be and he knew it. Or rather, he was good at not letting that cloud his mind, thanks to his experience. His reasoning was simple: as long as he couldn't fight her, he got as much information as he could. Panicking in a situation where he couldn't do a thing had never served him well.

And, well, she seemed to believe that he was going to die, so he might as well see what sort of information he could get out of her.

"You are too calm for this," she said.

She looked back at the entrance of the tunnel, diverting her eyes from him for just a second. Once more, he felt her hold on him. Once more, he attempted to wiggle out of it.

This time, he reached for a knife. The one in the small of his back, precisely.

She looked back at him and he froze mid-gesture. He immediately regretted his decision. He had reached for his weapon with his left hand and she was on his right side. His body suddenly felt too skinny to hide the hand that had not been reaching out before.

"No one is coming yet," she said. "They must be too busy murdering all of _my_ imps. What a shame, don't you think? Gives us all the time in the world to enjoy each other's company."

He would have nodded in approval should he have been allowed to; he had a glimmer of hope and now he would have started to get hasty. She seemed to sense that, or at least it appeared so to his slightly panicked mind because her wide, soft eyes lingered a little more insistently than what he was comfortable with. And she didn't say a word for a full ten seconds.

She was only thinking about other things.

"You must know quite a lot about me," she said. "That's why you ask. How long had you been watching me, back then, until I found out? Must have been quite some time. You must know my powers... Tell me, what are my powers?"

Even if he didn't feel her hold on him while she was looking at him in the eyes, he still felt the nudge as she compelled him to obey. Not that he had anything to lose by indulging her.

"Your hypnosis skills are unparalleled," he said. "We suspected a natural tendency of your vampiric line--"

"So you don't know my line."

"We did not."

"Heh."

She smiled, obviously pleased with herself - or maybe laughing at some secret joke as Barmond's expense. Hugo did the same thing, although it did feel different when he was the one doing it.

Barmond wished that Hugo might be there, in the room with them. Alas. It would be a miracle if the oaf didn't get Barmond kill by tumbling down the narrow gallery.

And yet he found himself regretting not having told him goodbye.

"What else?" she demanded. "Tell me. What else did you know?"

"Obviously... resistance to hypnotism. That's a given. Some aura work - making yourself unnoticeable to humans without having to look at them in the eyes."

"That boy I almost caught had underestimated that one," she said.

"He was a rookie."

"And the metamorphosis?" she asked.

She didn't give him the leisure to answer. She extended her arm, looking at it as she did, and her skin morphed. Her fingers got longer and thinner, curling, as a membrane grew between then. It turned into what could only be described as a giant batwing, one that had its membrane linked down Aurora's torso. She looked back at him.

Barmond had his hand on his dagger. He had been so, so close to pulling it out. If he had been allowed to move at all, he would have been shaking.

"So, did you know about it?" she asked.

"We've had our suspicion after having found corpses with claw marks on them."

"Ah, yes," she said. "Those kids. I should have known you would find them."

Barmond made no effort to hide his disgust as he recalled the state in which she had left them.

"It's been so nice talking with you," she said. "Imps are great and all but they lack conversation. Those poor souls over here don't have a lot of conversation, and even my own child could entertain me much-- By the way, how did you kill--"

The heard the sound in the tunnel at the same time. Instinctually, her eyes went to it.

It went very fast.

She saw him coming. If she would have looked into his eyes in that very second, if she would have had that reflex, he would have had to stop. But instead, her hand went straight to his throat. She was fast. Faster than what he could even dream of. Her clawed fingers sank in his throat.

There was a wet 'chunk'. A gasp from the humans there. And all of the tension in Aurora's body dropped to zero as she felt to the ground like a discarded doll. In her chest, from under her left breast, jutted the grip of his knife.

Barmond coughed and rose his hand to his throat, rubbing the holes Aurora had left him. Lovely. And there went the last of the meagre reserves stolen from the imp.

If only the sire's blood had been of any purpose at all, thought Barmond. It had been a taste, nothing more, a taste that only reminded him that he was flawed, yet he could feel it deeply embedded inside of him. Like a mark next to the one of his sire, really. If he had known that he would be carrying a reminder of that stupid imp forever, he would have found another way to kill that thing.

"How?" said Aurora.

He was so surprised by the sound of her voice that he did the stupidest mistake he could have committed: he looked at her. Her eyes, wide open, caught his once more.

Fuck.

"How did you resist me?" she asked. "Take it out now!"

She couldn't move but now Barmond was compelled to obey her. It felt like an out-of-body experience or a dream. He felt himself lean down, saw his arm moving, his hand reach for the grip--

A heavy mass of muscles hit him out of nowhere, knocking him off balance. But he did not fall. Strong arms came around him, holding him. Barmond felt her grip on his snap cleanly.

"No!" she screamed.

"Don't look at her," said Hugo near Barmond's ear.

"I _know_ ," snapped Barmond.

But the oaf didn't let go of him quite yet. In fact, his hug - Barmond recognized it for what it was - tightened briefly before he let him go.

Hugo looked great-- In good shape. Not a scratch on him. He was smiling as well, and if he would have had a tail Barmond was sure that it would have been wagging.

He turned away. He could afford to look in Aurora's eyes, at least for a moment, even if he seemed to avoid that. She looked furious. Her eyes were no longer soft. In fact, they were cold, with an underlying metallic gleam to them. Or maybe that was just the candlelight playing tricks on Barmond's mind.

Hugo took out a handkerchief and unfolded it. It seemed to have already been used many times: it was full of grim and blood. He seemed to hesitate, then dropped the handkerchief on her face, over her eyes. She hissed but otherwise couldn't do a thing to take it off her. The only thing that she could move were the muscles of her face.

Barmond has seen such a trick before, in another vampire.

"Well, that answers the question of her vampiric line," said Barmond flatly.

Hugo chuckled. "Does it?"

Barmond elected to ignore what sounded like a veiled mockery. This felt a lot like their usual banter. And, strangely enough, Barmond wasn't sure that he disliked it.


	32. The Starvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very busy for the last three days so this chapter might be a little short. I'm glad I at least managed to write and post it today.

"I think that everyone is here," said Hugo.

He had turned his attention to the prisoners, and so did Barmond. There were those among them that seemed to perk up, understanding that they were finally getting a rescue, but there were others-- those were hard to look at. They seemed like they were struggling to care about what was happening right in front of them.

Barmond had seen those looks before. What else was there to expect? At least those had been saved from Aurora... not like the last ones. The ones that had prompted the hunters to take action and attempt to strike her down the first time.

Funny that she would be taken down like that, by coincidence, years later. Or at least Barmond hoped that she was going to be taken down. She had, in his eyes, already cheated death once. He was not letting her get away a second time.

"We need to get everyone out," said Hugo, turning to Barmond. "Can you give me a hand?"

Barmond looked at the humans again. They had been fed on, this was Aurora's cattle.

He suddenly felt hungry.

He felt terrible for it. But there was something about how terrible it would be to feed on them now that awakened the temptation of the taboo - and the slumbering beast inside of Barmond. He quickly looked away from them.

"Barmond?" asked Hugo. His voice was a little softer, concerned.

Barmond didn't answer. He looked at Hugo in the eyes, then at the people, then back at Hugo. Somehow, the werewolf understood what he meant.

"You should go get the others. They should be done," he said.

Barmond nodded and left through the tunnel.

He wasn't the type of vampire that endlessly lamented themselves on their condition as bloodsuckers - they were those, the tragic type, that made it into an obsession. Barmond very much judged that way of thinking among his peers. He was a creature of the night and he had urges, and that was all. As a man that had clung to a lot of illusions just to have them break in his hands during the course of his life, he didn't have a high esteem of himself - and he knew it.

But he thought that he had a bit more control than that. He had managed to remain lucid until the very last moment before he dropped on the ground out of hunger, back when he was being hunted himself. He had thought that he had more control over himself. And yet... here he was.

He found a werewolf to talk to, telling her that Hugo needed her in the back - as well as a few of her companions. He never showed her the way. But he did go back up that tunnel. Even talking to the werewolves was distracting.

He found his way to the source of water the imps had been using while they were still alive.

There were no corpses there, at least. Just the water, drip-dropping from the ceiling into a basin, and some quiet. Or, at least, as quiet as it could be when underground. Constant echos were chasing each other off every nook and cranny of the cold, irregular walls. The voices in the other rooms, the lights that slipped through the openings, came to him deformed.

It was uniquely soothing. Strange, but soothing. Barmond sat down and started to breathe slowly, sorting his thoughts once more.

He would have attacked the humans, he told himself. He wouldn't have done that. He had more control than that over his hunger. And, even if that wasn't the case, he had recognized what was happening and had removed himself from their presence, lessening the risk of him attacking them.

He knew that the humans were coming out when one of the little ones started to cry. It was irrational. It was full of fear. The small, living body that screamed out like that had no other way of releasing the tension that had accumulated over days in the dark. Not even Barmond knew how someone so young would take such an ordeal, and he had been in this situation a few times.

It never got easy.

There was something deeply unnerving about a vampire that fed off children, at least to Barmond. They were preys that were a lot smaller than adults, and so that contained less blood. They fiddled and screamed and couldn't be reasoned with outside of being hypnotised - in Barmond's opinion. And that didn't even account for the fact that a child often had parents that would be protective of them. There were no reasons that he could understand to hunt children.

And yet some vampires did it. Not all. The practice was frowned upon in his clan - at least one thing that his clan got right, at least.

He wondered if that was why Balthazar had banished her from his clan.

Because it was obvious now, at least to Barmond, that she was the vampire daughter of Balthazar and a sister to what had once been Lazarev, or at least from their line. Because of how the Sleeping Beauty line appeared one generation over the one of Balthazar - with Balthazar's sire - the vampires that could open their eyes and talk as she had done while staked could be counted on the fingers of a hand. And that did not even take into account the fact her powers were similar to the ones of Lazarev.

That was how they had mistaken one for the other so easily. They had tracked down her actions using magic and Lazarev had turned up on their radars instead. Not only that, but she had purposefully guided them towards him by leaving a trail of clues meant to look genuine.

And then she had left them to deal with the consequences.

Balthazar wondered if there might have been some bitterness in her actions. Obviously, the first heir of Balthazar had been Lazarev. She, on the other hand, was a wanderer, a castaway, forced to cooperate with imps to gather a hoard large enough to feed her. Maybe directing the hunters towards him had been revenge.

But he would have to ask her, and she was most likely Ranphoros' prisoner now. Maybe his new boss would give Barmond the information if he managed to get her to talk at all. Barmond was sure he had people for that.

"Barmond?" asked Hugo.

His voice broke into Barmond's thoughts quite easily, calling all of his attention. Barmond turned around to face him, and Hugo took it as an invitation to come closer.

Barmond's hunger flared. He could hear Hugo's heartbeat from where he was sitting, and the mand didn't see as afraid as he should be.

"Careful," said Barmond.

What he feared might happen happened: the moment he relaxed his jaw to speak, his fangs slipped out of their sockets. Out of embarrassment - and habit - Barmond brought his hand in front of his mouth.

"I know," said Hugo. "it's fine. I'm here to help you."

"You should have this back," muttered Barmond, changing the subject. He unhooked the shortsword at his waist and handed it over. "It's yours."

"I think you handle it better than I do," said Hugo. "I'd rather use my claws and teeth if I can get away with it. I heard that you handled Vanja well, where did you learn to swordfight?"

"With my education," said Barmond.

"I thought hunters favoured the crossbow."

"Not that one. Growing up. I... I was the son of a nobleman. Bastard. Son of a nobleman. And then recognized as such when his wife failed to provide him with a fitting heir."

"Oh," said Hugo. " _Oh_. That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"A lot."

He didn't look like he was joking. He was still standing there, looking at Barmond in the half-darkness of the cavern. He even stepped closer, going to sit on the ledge where Barmond rested.

He was very close.

"I was disowned," said Barmond, "when I was sixteen. Sent to the hunters. My father said that he didn't want me in the way of his newest child, a child born to the wedding."

"Oh," said Hugo. "I'm sorry this happened to you. Your father didn't deserve you."

"I know it wasn't the reason."

Barmond didn't really know why he was telling Hugo all that, all of a sudden. Or, rather, he knew, he simply didn't want to admit it to himself.

"He had caught me kissing another boy," said Barmond. "And I never forgave myself for it."

Hugo didn't react, at first. And then it dawned upon him, and his face showed surprise. Surprise about what, Barmond didn't know. He didn't really want to know.

He smelled so nice. He was so close. Barmond found himself leaning in before he realised what he was doing, pressing his cheek to Hugo's shoulder.

"You're hungry," said Hugo.

"Yes."

Hugo didn't respond. He went to his shirt to unbutton it. He showed more neck. But he also showed more skin. Barmond found himself licking his canines as he watched, hungry for more than just blood. And yet he found the strength to wait. To anticipate, even.

Hugo reached for Barmond's face, his chin. He ran his rough thumb over Barmond's lip. Their eyes met.

Barmond leaned in.


	33. The Taste

Hugo's lips were chaffed, rough like the rest of him. Never Barmond had tasted any that were as delicious, as anticipated as them, and he found himself sinking ever-so-slightly towards Hugo. It had been the neck or them, his desire or his hunger. He had picked his desire. His desire that he was finally listening to.

A part of him dared to still be surprised by the fact that he was kissing Hugo, of all people. He had a thought for Yoven, sweet, sweet Yoven that had given a peck before letting him leave to warn Hugo. Was he betraying him by doing this? Was there something to betray there? He didn't know. The feeling of the other's lips, the heat of the moment, that was taking him like a tidal wave. Everything that wasn't the present moment was being washed away.

Hugo groaned. It was hard to tell if it was of surprise or pleasure. Regardless of what it was, he passed a hand behind Barmond's head and deepened the kiss, opening his mouth. Barmond let him do. It had been so long since he had kissed someone and meant it like that. Their tongue-tips found their way to one another and touched each other lightly, not daring to stroke against one another fully. Or, rather, Barmond was hesitant and Hugo sensed that.

Barmond withdrew a little, for air, but Hugo's pulse called him right back. Before he knew it, his teeth were pulling at Hugo's lower lip, so that the light throb of his heart would press ever-so-delightfully against Barmond's fangs. They were so sensitive.

Hugo chuckled. His breath left a cold imprint on where saliva remained from their kiss, bringing Barmond back to reason. He let go of his lip.

"I thought I was feeding you," said Hugo. He had the widest, most slappable grin on his face.

Nope... kissing him had not made him any less obnoxious.

Barmond wanted to protest, but attempting to speak reminded him of his fangs, how the briefest of contact could make him shudder.

So, instead, he just opened his mouth and stayed like this, indecisive.

"You're a little out of it, aren't you?" asked Hugo. He chuckled and pressed a thumb to Barmond's chin, stroking it. "Is that how I can get away with kissing you?"

The question knocked some sense in Barmond.

"You're really going to give me some of your blood?"

Hugo rose a brow as he opened yet another button of his shirt. Barmond's attention was capture by the expanse of bare skin now revealed. He went to bite his lip - instinctually - which was a bad idea considering how sharp his fangs were.

Curse his hunger.

"What are you waiting for?" asked Hugo.

Barmond finally took the invitation and leaned forward to sink his teeth in Hugo's neck, urged to do so by a gentle press to the back of his head. Immediately, he felt the other's innate power humming through him, making him feel as he was coming back to life.

Hugo hummed in appreciation, and the vibration went right through Barmond's skull. He gasped and almost let go of him without having drawn a single drop, but didn't. Hunger kept him right there, arched up against Hugo to reach the flesh of his shoulder. But a distant vibration hummed in his crotch, a dangerous one at that.

Damn it.

But he had to go through with it now that he had come so far, even knowing how giving blood to his all-too-willing system might be a bad idea. Because it was. It absolutely was. He knew what arousal felt when he didn't have any blood in him, this hollow sensation was was both bizarre and strangely alluring.

He drew his first sip.

Every time he drank from Hugo, it was like a hit in the gut. His werewolf strength was formidable and everything that Barmond craved for. It filled his head with fluff and his body with heat - in every sense of the term.

He didn't quite want to give up. He wanted to retain some of his dignity. Every time he had drunk from him, he had lost himself. Already, this time, he had made a fool of himself by kissing him instead of actually biting him. Yet, no matter how many times he told himself all of that, he couldn't resist.

He sank in Hugo's embrace, letting his chest fully rest against the other's. Once again, Hugo hummed in approval. For the second time, Barmond felt that in his very bones. Who was he to resist? With what strength?

And, of course, the heat from Hugo's blood was already gathering in a pool, down in his lower stomach. Way to waste some precious blood, thought Barmond to himself as he slowly pulled away. A single lick to the wound he left behind closed it.

And then he couldn't even draw away from Hugo, even sated. He closed his eyes and just breathed. Despite his unusual lucidity - compared to other times where he had drunk from Hugo - the soft, irresistible bliss of being sated was starting to set in.

And Hugo. Hugo was right there. Barmond had completely forgotten the rest of the world.

Yet it was the werewolf that moved first, leaning back ever-so-slightly. Barmond opened his eyes when he felt a touch on his chin, lifting it. He only had the time to see Hugo's face before he was kissed again.

It was not a tender thing, that kiss. Hugo's beard was rough against Barmond's nose and cheeks, and there were teeth thrown into the mix. This was not Barmond leading it, this was Hugo, and this was how the latter liked it best if Barmond were to guess. He didn't dislike it himself. He even groaned as his mouth was plundered.

Hugo hummed in delight. His tongue pushed into Barmond's mouth and went up, to the sensitive base of Barmond's fangs.

Barmond moaned when he was stroked there, the nerve bundle coming alive. He suddenly remembered that he was very, very close to getting hard when he felt his length twitch in his pants from just that. Yet he knew he couldn't escape. He didn't even try to.

Barmond gave out small sounds, one after the other, each time Hugo's tongue came back to it. He couldn't help it. It was as if he was ticklish there, except that instead of laughing he was being struck, again and again, by a small wave of pleasure.

Mercifully, Hugo broke the kiss. Barmond didn't even know if he would have done it himself.

"So," said Hugo, "I take that you _do_ like me."

Barmond froze, old reflexes kicking in and bursting the bubble he had been floating in. It took him a moment to get out of that space in his head where he had been trapped so many years, to look at Hugo in the face as he would an equal.

"Maybe," said Barmond.

"You like me."

Hugo was moving in. The hand that had lingered behind Barmond's head slipped down the line of his back, settling at his waist, holding him close. A small gesture of the wrist got Barmond to shift his hips, making his legs fall apart ever-so-noticeably. And Barmond didn't close them.

"So, I'd be allowed to touch you here?" asked Hugo.

He stroked Barmond's chest. His hand left a burning hot imprint in its wake, even through his clothes. It was going downwards.

"Is that a yes or a no, Barmond?" he asked. "Answer or I'll stop."

"Yes, you're _allowed_ ," spat Barmond.

"Gee. Sometimes I wonder if you ever have fun, Barmond."

"I have loads of fun all the time, Rocher."

"You're frowning."

"Take it or leave it."

"Oh, wait, I know what it is."

Barmond expected it to go there eventually. He just did not expect it this soon. He didn't even expect it that night. That is why he yelped when Hugo's hand dove between his legs, pressing against the halfhearted heat gathered there after his little blood donation.

And, wouldn't you know it, Barmond hardened almost instantly.

"You're just frustrated," said Barmond.

"You rabies-giver," said Barmond.

"Come on, I dare you. Tell me that you want me to take off my hand. I dare you."

Barmond would totally have been able to do it if Hugo had not resorted to the dirtiest of low-blows by starting to feel him up. Barmond shuddered and moaned.

"That's more like it," said Hugo - a little too smugly for Barmond's tastes. "Sing for me."

"Others might hear, you oaf," said Barmond.

He tried to scoot away on the ridge where they were both sitting. He had to try. But Hugo's arm was still firm and strong behind him, holding him, and the way the large hand between his legs straddled him pinned him in place. The only thing he achieved was more friction. And it felt a little too good for Barmond to feel reassured by it.

A tiny sound - a mewl - resonated at the bottom of his throat.

"What was that?" said Hugo. He was grinning. Barmond could see his white teeth very clearly in the dark. "Other's can't hear if you don't make a sound."

He ran his pointer finger along the hardening length in Barmond's pants, making him shudder in pleasure. Barmond did his best to turn his expression into one of disdain.

"You really are a brute," he said.

"Complaining, now?" asked Hugo.

"Bastard."

"You know you like it."

Case and point, his tented pants. Hugo didn't even have to mention them to stop Barmond from arguing against that. Not that Barmond was in a state that lended itself to proper argumentation. He was crumbling. That last insult was all he could muster. He didn't even really care if someone walked in on them now.

Or so he thought.

"Hey, sir, here you are!" said a voice.

Patricia's voice, Barmond recognized through a haze of lust. Wait. Patricia?

Both him and Hugo turned to her. She was standing at the entrance of their cavern room, looking confused. A whole three steps behind her were her teammates, frozen, that had evidently attempted to stop her from interrupting.

Because, of course, they would know that their boss was busy getting a certain vampire all hot and flustered. They were werewolves, their senses were as sharps as blades. They must have known since the start.

Barmond stood up.

"Bar--" said Hugo.

But Barmond was already at the stream, crouching. The cold water didn't feel as nice as he wanted it to be when he splashed it on his face but at least it calmed him down. Relatively speaking, at least.

"What's happening?" asked Patricia. "I thought you guys didn't like each other."

Barmond didn't bother gracing that comment with a look. From the ruffle of clothes behind him, he guessed that Hugo was doing that for him. He hoped that it was one of sheer disbelief.

"Pat, come here," said one of the other werewolf in a terrified half-whisper.

"But we need to tell him that the people are waiting outside," said Patricia in her normal, _outdoor_ voice.

Meanwhile, Barmond kept splashing his face, rinsing his hands, and splashing his face. He couldn't believe he had let himself slip like that. Couldn't believe that this was the sort of thing that happened the moment he opened the gates. Really, he should know better than to let _Hugo_ , of all people, have it his way with him.

"All right, all right," said Patricia, "I get it. But he knows now."

She finally walked away with the others. Barmond took a deep breath and got up. He heard Hugo stand up as well.

"You're busy," said Barmond.

"I know."

He laid a kiss on the back of Barmond's neck. Not quite where a vampire would bite, but close enough that Barmond attention snapped into sharp focus once again. He paid very close attention to the other's breathing.

"You should go with them," said Barmond.

"I know."

One kiss on the nape of his neck. One higher. And one higher. Hugo's lips, delicately, rested against the shell of his ear. Barmond tensed like a bow's string almost instantly as a dangerous shudder ran down his spine.

He tore himself from Hugo and his sweet kisses, stepping directly in the stream because he wasn't even paying attention to where he was going. He looked down when he heard the splash of his boot in the water.

"Goddess," he swore.

Hugo chuckled, amused.

"This is your fault," said Barmond as he stepped out of the water.

"How?"

"You _know_ what you did. Go away now."

Barmond turned around to face Hugo. There was less light now, a lot less. With the others stepping away with their torches, it was fading.

He could still see the longing in Hugo's eyes.

"Don't look at me like that."

"So now... it's finished?" asked Hugo.

There was a coldness in his voice that Barmond recognized from two nights ago, when Hugo had told him that he was going to leave him alone. He was already withdrawing away from Barmond.

And Barmond didn't want that, even if he didn't know what he wanted instead. So he didn't reply, not verbally, but he shook his head.

It was not over.

Hope appeared in Hugo's eyes and he let out the breath he had been holding tight. He was gambling as well. They were both way too old to be dancing so awkwardly around one another.

"So," asked Hugo, "there will be a conclusion to this?"

"I guess," said Barmond.

Huh, that had come out easier than he thought it would. The trick was not to think about it too hard.

And Hugo was smiling again.

"I got to go back to them," he said. "But I'll hold you to it."

"I know you will," said Barmond. "You're stubborn like that."

"Not as much as you."

Barmond almost denied it, but then realised that he would be lying if he did. So he didn't answer anything, and waited for Hugo to leave so that he could follow him out.


	34. The Thanks

As it turned out, the humans weren't quite willing to cooperate with the werewolves. They were scared, having come right out of an experience that made them realise that there was more to the world than what lived in their small village. Some of the women were realising that the group of mercenaries were no more human than the vampire that had taken them prisoner.

Kids and women, thought Barmond. She really had no respect. Barmond himself didn't even know if he could bring himself to go for a child, even if he was hungry. There was something... uninteresting about them to him.

That still left them with some troubling humans to deal with.

The women would do their best to keep as far away as possible from the werewolves as they wanted through the forest. Even when the children were complaining about being tired and had to be carried, it was them that went to pick them up first despite their weakened state. They all looked around them like scared animals, jumping at the slightest sound.

What a mess they were.

Barmond found himself wishing for the same powers as what Aurora had displayed. A full-blooded vampire would have been able to go to them and tell them to forget everything. And they did have a full-blooded vampire available... they simply couldn't trust her. She had done enough damage as it was.

They lit some more lanterns to make sure that everyone had enough light to see their way and moved out, leaving the nets and ropes there to be taken back during the day. In front was Patricia, that seemed to be taking the moment very seriously, then came the humans surrounded by the few werewolves they could tolerate and, finally. most of the pack came behind.

Hugo was busy with other things during the trip back. There was a woman that had some trouble walking, being too weak for that. Barmond, looking at her, wondered how much longer she would have survived in there. Barmond looked at her and thought that he understood why her state was ever more dramatic than one of the others.

Aurora did not strike him as the type that kept track of when she fed on whom; in situations like that, where humans got locked in a basement by a vampire for feeding, Barmond knew that was common for there to be one hero that sacrificed themselves to save those that were more scared than she was. And from the paleness of her cheeks and the way her legs struggled to stay straight, she might have been that person.

Hugo was obviously worried. He was trying to get to her but the group would protect her, subtly, as it walked. Even she seemed a little scared of the werewolf, refusing a hand to help her over a ledge as they moved through the irregular terrain of the forest. Hugo, that probably didn't want to cause a scene - that might not have the knowledge Barmond possessed and didn't understand her situation fully - eventually gave up.

And then she fell.

It seemed at first that she had tripped, and that is probably what the group thought at first. But Barmond had been watching her and he knew that it was her legs that had finally given in. Hugo has seen it too. He was the first one to hurry to her side.

But then he looked up, at Barmond. Barmond, that had been trailing as far back as he could from the humans he had been wanting to bite earlier - he still felt a little guilty about that. Hugo seemed to find him automatically in the darkness, his eyes locking on him as he gestured to him to come closer.

He heard some of the humans gasp when he appeared in the circle of light from the lanterns. That is when he realised that he must have been invisible to them, lost in the darkness and the crowd of strangers that had come to kill the imps. He ignored them. He was curious about what Hugo wanted with him.

"Help her," said Hugo. "Lend her a shoulder."

Barmond was puzzled. Why would he, of all people, be asked to do such a thing? He wasn't good at this people thing that was done after they rescued victims.

But he did it anyway, crouching in silence so that he could lend her a shoulder, just like Hugo said. That seemed to please the latter, that nodded once and then returned to making everyone move forward.

She did not weight much on his shoulder - she was rather small, which made sense considering that she must have been abducted for her size and her pretty blond hair. She stubbornly tried to take away as much weight form him as she could muster. She was breathing hard and was probably dizzy, but they needed to get back. Get some food in her.

Get her spelled, probably, so that the memories of her time in the dark with a vampire might at least be blurred. Barmond hoped that Maggie could manage it, or at least Jessica. It would be ironic if they ended up helping in that way, seeing as she had come to visit them on the same day to cause nothing but trouble. And then they would have to release the humans and send them back to their families while hoping that they would be all right.

They wouldn't. Barmond knew it in his guts and he had seen it once when he was a vampire hunter. They did their best to cover the tracks, to have people go on with their lives, but there were traces left afterwards.

"Thank you," said the woman.

She broke into his thoughts and he gave her a surprised look. She squinted to look at him, trying to distinguish him in the dark. He could see her face perfectly.

"You should save your breath."

"You did something amazing," she said. "You weren't even afraid."

He didn't know if he should tell her that this was only her impression. It felt rude. He nodded, at least, acknowledging her words. That would have to do.

"Everyone is safe now," she said.

He heard it in her voice before she started to cry. There was breathless, and there was that sigh of relief that came out interwoven with her voice. He stopped at that moment, and he could hear that she simply couldn't stop her sobbing.

He looked at Hugo. Hugo must have heard the conversation because he was already looking their way. The latter gestured that Barmond needed to get her on the side of the path, out of the way.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't..."

Barmond was doing his best to remain detached from her tragedy, he really was. But the way she was just breaking down in his arms was crushing his defences. Damn Hugo for putting him in this position. Damn everything. Damn Aurora for doing this to them.

"Move on," said Hugo to the group. "We're almost there."

Barmond found a fallen trunk he could sit her on and sat her on it, guiding her in the almost darkness. It was better when Hugo came over with his lantern but he was standing a few feet back. Having him there helped Barmond feel a bit more reassured about that. If he didn't know what to say, Hugo would. Hugo was better at that than he was.

"I'm sorry," she said once more.

"Don't be," said Barmond. "Take some time to rest. We're almost there, a bit further."

"I should--" She tried to get up; Barmond stopped her.

"Rest now," he said. "And let it out."

He didn't quite know what inspired him to say the last part, but it came out in a soft voice. She stared at him before she had to look away to hide more tears. He crouched in front of her in silence. Not that he was grateful that he didn't need to speak any more. Deep down, there still was a little bit of that naive Barmond that had started hunting vampires, that Barmond that believed that words could help.

Maybe they could. He didn't know them; they were out of his reach. Any maybe silence was what she needed? What did he know?

"It was so... dark," she said. " _She_ would give us candles but-- not enough, you know? I hate caves. I hate them so much. I thought I was going..."

She didn't finish her sentences. She was shaking uncontrollably as if all the fear that she had felt during that dark descent was coming back to her. She was lucky she was still sane.

"She had no right to do that," said Hugo. "She did something terrible."

"She was just hungry," said the woman. "She was just... eating us. Like pigs!"

"You are no pig," said Barmond.

"I thought I was," she said. She had cried out before, now she was quiet, disturbingly so. "I might as well have been. A rabbit. But I had to... I had to be strong. For the children."

She laughed - it was a laugh through her tears, bitter, painful to hear. Barmond hated it the moment he heard it.

"I thought it was better if I am the one that dies," she said.

Barmond did not even know what one replied to something like that.

"I have no children anymore. No... No husband. I thought that if I could stall her... I could give others a few more days... I fed her. First. I gave myself to her first when she would take me. The vampire. That's what she was, right?"

Barmond looked back at Hugo. There. She had said it. The word that they were not supposed to mention, what they were supposed to forget. It was best, sometimes, to keep the existence of other creatures in the shadows a secret. Not a very well-kept one, of course, otherwise there wouldn't be hunters in the first place, but covering their tracks was expected of any creature that could do so.

That she would make that link with a real creature and a beast of legend was already troubling.

"I'm not crazy yet," she said. "I know what I saw. You felt it too. Her power over you; that's why you couldn't move. And you weren't... You weren't afraid like we were."

She paused.

"You know what to do," she said. "Since the start. You knew she was in there. And you knew what to do. You resisted her. What are you?"

She was getting agitated. She looked through the trees, in the direction where the others had gone, looking for them. Barmond could see a light and hear a child cry in the distance but he doubted that she could. It was just her and two men with a lantern.

"We will not harm you," said Hugo. "We were sent to help."

"By whom?" she asked.

"Someone that does not take kindly to those that hurt others without reason," said Hugo. His voice was cold - he was probably doing his own work to remain unaffected by her distress. "The vampire will receive punishment for her actions. You can be sure of that."

"Are you some sort of fairy folk?" she asked. "The ones that abduct people? Where are we going?"

"Just to some ordinary camp," said Barmond. "You have many questions that we cannot answer at the moment, but we'll do so later."

Such a classic lie to tell.

"What is happening?" she asked. She was still scared.

"No harm will come to you."

She stared at Barmond, looking for something in his face. Barmond looked at her back, not really knowing how to react. She eventually gave him a slight nod.

"Very well," she said.

She went with them without another fuss. And, while Hugo went ahead to check on the camp, Barmond remained behind to help her till she was safe and sound.

"I think you handled it well," said Hugo.

Barmond had been watching the process of having the humans mind-wiped, as much as it pained him. Both Jessica and Maggie were posing as medics that were checking over everyone one by one. They made sure to bring everyone one by one behind the tents for some privacy. Sometimes, when a mother wanted to be with her child, they did so together, probably working so that no one would notice that they were being bewitched.

Barmond had been thinking about how he used to do those processes himself, as a hunter. He couldn't since he had become a vampire. While he could still muster some minor spells, this was nothing compared to what he had been capable of doing.

Or at least he had been thinking about that up to the point where Hugo had walked in his direction. Barmond's mind had gone blank when that had happened. With the stress levels finally going down, he once more had the time to think about what had transpired between them at the cave.

It really had been irresponsible of him, that he knew. But also he couldn't stop thinking about the feeling of Hugo's hand touching him through his clothes. His reactivity... had been a tad embarrassing. Like he was some teenage boy. Which he wasn't!

"What did I handle?" asked Barmond, trying his best to appear nonchalant.

He was failing, if Hugo's smile was of any indication. Or maybe Hugo was smiling because he did so when he was near Barmond. It did suit his face more than a frown - not that it made him look any smarter.

"Everything," said Hugo. "I mean, some congratulations are for how you dealt with Aurora, of course, but that's it's own separate thing. How is your throat?"

Barmond raised his hand to stroke it, puzzled at first, before he remembered that Aurora had sunk her claws in it. That was something that tended to occur when one became a vampire: wounds weren't remembered long when they could be healed almost instantly unless they had been particularly painful. He still remembered when he had jumped off the walls of Gardel to escape from Anselm.

That felt like ages ago.

"It's doing fine."

"And the rest?"

"What rest?"

Hugo chuckled but didn't elaborate. Barmond narrowed his eyes. He had the feeling that Hugo was messing with him.

"Jokes aside--" said Hugo.

"What joke?" asked Barmond.

"Nothing!"

"Say."

Hugo chuckled again. "I was going to refer to the state you were in when Pat interrupted us but that would be inappropriate now."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

"Satyr," said Barmond. "That's what you are. The dog version of one."

"I wasn't the one that got hard."

"That's not intentional. Your _touching_ was."

Hugo started to laugh. Or rather he tried not to and, when he failed, he covered his mouth with his hand and did so quietly. Barmond stared him down in the hope that he would make him feel ashamed for his actions but Hugo was a lost cause.

"Go make yourself useful if you're going to bother me," said Barmond.

"I am, I am," said Hugo as he sobered up. "I wanted to talk to you about what had happened. I really do mean it when I said that you were of great help. We were lucky we had you. I was thinking about how she could have used the humans as hostages. You getting in there, taking those risks, you really stopped that. It was just lucky."

"She made many mistakes," said Barmond. Then, just because he didn't know when else he would be telling Hugo, he added, "I know what vampire line she comes from. She's Lazarev's sister."

"Lazarev?" Hugo seemed confused until he recognized the same. "Oh, yes."

"That, or his aunt... something. She's from that line."

"What is she doing in a cave with imps this far west?"

"That's a good question. My best guess is that she was banned from her clan... I wonder why. She's _such_ a lovely woman."

"I wonder what she did, if she did anything."

"You could ask her," said Barmond. "That's what I know, at this point your guess is as good as mine."

"Then we'll wonder about it later. I wanted to ask you how you knew about her in the first place. From what I was told, you came rushing in crying about vampires."

"Oh-- That's right, no one told you," said Barmond. "There was a vampire imp preying on Yoven. I caught it and killed it. Remember the big one that looked suspicious?"

Hugo's brows shot up. "A vampire imp?"

"A vampire can be made out of anything, _technically_ _speaking_. Otto doesn't think so," Barmond gestured to himself, "but that's his opinion, not facts. Besides, it was a half-blood, from what I could tell. Small teeth and all that."

Hugo chuckled.

"Don't," said Barmond.

"What? I think your kitties look really cute."

_"Don't call them that."_

"Coming from someone that's been bitten by them, I'd rather they be small, honestly," said Hugo. "Big teeth hurt a lot more and I'm not as into it as I used to be."

Something about the way he said it made Barmond frown. What did he mean? He spoke as if he had been bitten by another vampire before. Which, considering how confident he acted when Barmond did it to him, would explain a lot.

"But how is Yoven?" asked Hugo before Barmond could formulate a question.

"Weak. He will have to recover for a while."

Hugo grinned at him. "What a shame."

"Shut up."

"I can withstand feeding a vampire on my own." Hugo was getting a little cocky. "It wouldn't be a problem for me."

"Of course it wouldn't." Barmond would still go hunting on his own. He didn't trust Hugo entirely on his allegations. "You'd even enjoy it, like some sadist."

"As if you didn't know how nice it can feel," said Hugo. "By the way, next time... we should make sure we stay alone."

Barmond gulped, taken a little aback. For all his snarky attitude, he knew what that meant. Where this was leading them. He could have said that he wasn't ready for that but that would have been a lie.

"I should go check on Yoven," said Barmond.

"Absolutely." Hugo sighed. "And I should wrap things up around here. Once again, thank you for your help."

"Have a good day," said Barmond

"A good night first. I need to sleep at some point."

Hugo stared at him in an odd way. It was not amused or concerned, but intense. His eyes were on Barmond's lips.

Barmond felt himself grow flustered. He wanted to kiss him goodnight too but they were in public - and who knew how the humans would react to them. So he turned around and ran away without another word. It was for the best. He didn't know if he would have been able to hold back any longer.


	35. The Explanations

Barmond got to the inn and realised that he had no way of getting in. He looked up at the window of his room, which would have been open before, and found that it was closed. It made sense. After being attacked by an imp, Barmond agreed that Yoven was better off closing it.

Even if that meant that Barmond would be remaining outside for the time being.

Strangely enough, he didn't find Vanja anywhere. The incubus must have held his word and ran before Hugo came back to the camp. Maybe he had used magic to get back in. But Barmond didn't have access to the spells that would have allowed him to follow him in, and so he had to stay standing in the courtyard. He wondered if he should be throwing rocks at the window to try and wake up Yoven.

He decided otherwise. What would he be doing in there anyway? The night was still young and Barmond didn't feel tired - he never did.

He turned away the way he came from.

Because he had spent some time turning around the inn in vain, looking for an entrance, the werewolf camp was not empty. Barmond watched it from afar, consuming some blood so that he would be capable of seeing further in the dark. He spotted a sentinel at the edge of the camp right as he yawned behind his hand. The humans must have been brought home once they were clear to go.

Barmond went around it, giving it extra distance so that he wouldn't be spotted.

He did consider going to Hugo. The idea occurred to him once he was sure he had passed the werewolves and as he was walking in the forest alone. He knew, in his heart, that if he walked up to them that he wouldn't be stopped.

That if he entered Hugo's tent, he wouldn't be refused.

But Hugo needed sleep and Barmond needed time. Lots of time. And there were questions, still, that needed answering. He knew that he wouldn't get another chance like this one.

The trip through the woods went by without any other incident, except for that one time where Barmond spotted an owl flying between the trees like a ghastly, silent vision. But that didn't really count as an incident; at most, Barmond had stopped in his tracks, caught by surprise by the feeling that the world was a strange place. A beautiful, wild place where he lived, that could catch him off guard with simple beauty.

The imps' lair looked odd, draped as it was in ropes and nets. Barmond didn't lose any time thinking about the massacre that had taken place there. Instead, he looked for a rock that could fit in the palm of his hand.

Barmond knew that Hugo knew about his magic, but Hugo had not been meant to see Barmond's ropes and recognise them for what they were. It was best if he remained very, very discreet about the full extent of his magic, just like he didn't like talking about the meagre vampire powers he had gotten from his line. Not that there was much to hide but they were useful enough. Like his knives, they were an ace hidden up his sleeve.

When he had found the rock that he had been looking for, he bit his tongue and spat some blood on it, before rubbing it with his palm. He then said a few words as he moved his hand over it once more.

It didn't come on.

He frowned. The way he used spells with his reduced magical ability was that he "ignited" whatever energy there was in his vampire blood, using it as fuel when his dead body could no longer provide. And it usually worked.

He tried again, this time watching inside of him what was happening. He said the words again and felt himself reach deep inside... Into a pocket that was no longer there.

He paused. It wasn't just that the little magic that was left had been diminished. It simply was not there anymore.

He felt an instinctual dread come over him. How many time had he relied on his magic while he was a human? How many tricks had he puller through agility alone? Magic had been one of his only consolations when he had awoken from his own death weaker than what he had expected.

He said the spell again. And again, louder. The millions of little sounds that came from the forest at night around him seemed to shut down when he rose his voice, and for that reason that made him quiet down and raise an ear to his surroundings as well.

The night was immense, gargantuan, all-consuming.

This was not just a statement he was making in his head. This was a fact. It was great, and it was entering him through all of his senses. He didn't even realise that he was reaching out for it until he did, and immediately he stopped. But he was scared by how acutely he had felt everything, every twirl of the wind, the rustle of the leaves, the twinkling of the stars.

He shuddered before he went to seek out a lamp. He couldn't be losing time like that, not too much, sitting in silence and feeling the forest around him like he was some entranced nature spirit. Luckily he found a lantern and some matches.

Moments later, he was climbing back through the lair.

The air was stale. He blocked out his nose. There was a stiff smell in the air, one that would only get worse with time, a smell of old blood and fresh death. He didn't look at the small bodies on the ground, even if the shapes they projected in the trembling light of his lantern were phantasmagorical. This was no longer the night of the forest but a half-world, at the border of the abyss.

He went up the tunnel, finding his way up there. And, when he had reached the furthest part of the cave, he raised his lantern to see what was in front of him, in the same way he had when he had first stumbled in a few hours before.

The cavern was empty save for a single body laying across the floor with a knife coming out from under her breast. She still had Hugo's handkerchief over her eyes.

"Come in," she said.

Those words made him hesitate, paradoxically. Because she was confident and unafraid, of course. Because she didn't move a single muscle. She seemed like she was trying to turn her head in his direction but she simply could not do so - she would have gotten rid of the handkerchief if she could.

He eventually came closer.

"Oh, it's you," she said as he neared. He didn't really know how she could tell. "What do you want?"

"I have questions."

She laughed.

"Seems that all you have are those," she said. "Well, I've calmed down now, I suppose. Accepted my fate yet again. You can sit down."

"Yet again?"

"I went through a lot in my life."

Barmond did not press, not quite yet. He knew that he would have all the time in the world for that in just a few moments. Instead, he sat down on a rock ledge that wasn't too far, his lantern at his feet. The cavern wasn't a very nice one, still full of smell and refuse from the humans, but at least it was dry enough.

"Why did you lead us to Lazarev?" was the first question that he asked.

"That again? Have I not responder to that already?"

"You never did. You were more interested in me flattering you and talking about your powers for the last few moments of my unlife."

She snorted. She seemed to think that this was funny, which did not surprise him.

"Well then, since it's so important to you that you crawled back here in secret, I'll tell you. It's a long sob story. If you ever feel the need to use a handkerchief to cry, feel free to use the one on my face."

"Vampires don't cry."

"Half-blood do... unless?"

She seemed pensive right as she said that, didn't elaborate on what she was thinking about. Barmond waited.

"Lazarev was my brother in vampirism," she said. "My younger brother, in fact. My only brother. And our sire's favourite, obviously. He didn't like me, I loved too much, bit the wrong preys... He frowned upon it. Was worried that it would be bad for his reputation. As if he didn't have enough rumours about him, he had to worry about one or two more?"

"Your sire... Balthazar?"

"Who else? The second Sleeping Beauty in person, the Sleeper Killer as they call him to when they think he's not listening. But he's always listening..."

She already sounded like a lunatic. But he let her go on as she pleased.

"Was it really my fault if he drove me away? And he wanted to believe that I was conspiring against him. Which I was not. But he is always listening, you know? He hears things that are not true. Such as me conspiring against him, spreading rumours about him, saying that he sometimes still enjoys being seen as a woman..."

"Can you get to the point?"

"He banished me. He sent me away. Never would I view him as one of my kind anyway, he's too much of a fool."

She didn't say anything for a few moments and Barmond waited.

"Admittedly," she added, "Lazarev had nothing to do with this. But, oh, how good it felt to play that little trick on him. The perfect child is gone first, and now I am all that is left... and now I am lost. He is alone once more like he was after he killed his own sire. Good for him. Deserved it. And I've been on the road ever since."

"You've said, before..."

"My turn to ask a question. Did you know that the imp you killed was a half-blood like you?"

That was not a question. That was an attempt at a slap across the face. He was taken aback for a second but she couldn't see his face. He let none of his surprise transpire in his voice as he responded.

"It was obvious. I can recognize a half-blood."

"She was a tool. Like you are to your sire. And the best part? If you let them stray away from you, they will never be strong enough to get back at you. No matter how many centuries pass by. Not like with full-blooded vampires!" She laughed.

"I also wanted to know what you meant--"

"How did you kill her?"

"Kill her?"

"My child. How did she die? Did you wring her neck? Did you paint the walls with her stolen blood? Squash her like a rat? Strangled her like a duck? Skinned her like a rabbit?"

"I drained her."

"Drained her... So that was what it was." She sighed. "I understand."

"Understand what?"

She laughed, stalling her response.

"Why you resisted me. You're my child too, now."

"What?"

"You stole it from that imp. Now you're mine as well."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, so you don't know that? Even as a hunter? Strange. Well, I suppose that it would be a well-guarded secret. After all, it is taboo even among vampires. That you can steal each other's powers in that way."

Barmond remained silent for a while longer. He was starting to understand.

"Any powers?"

"It's not a full process," she said. "Not all the time... But most of the time. I hope you get the four canines. That will be fun to explain to your sire."

"The what?"

"Four canines. Two on top... two on the lower jaw. A staple of our line."

Otto couldn't ever know about those, Barmond decided.

"Oh, and did I mention that this is a crime that is punishable with death? The elders don't want you to know such things, of course, so this is one of the rare instances in which they might put their differences aside and hunt you down."

Barmond knew that rule, of course. He had not thought that it applied to him when he was doing it in self-defence... to protect his red retainer!

"A half-blood of two sires... well, I suppose that you have received twice the blood needed to make a half-blood at this point. Still not enough to make a full-blood out of you, you would have to steal some more."

Barmond didn't respond. She grew quiet, having realised what she had just said.

She had more blood. And she was laying there, vulnerable, throat open, unable to defend herself. He could... get up. Walk to her. Kneel near her. This time, it wouldn't have to be violent. He could just take it, it would be like a kiss. With power like hers, he wouldn't need to serve Otto, being too weak to fend for himself. He would be strong. Strong like her.

He'd lose Hugo.

Hugo was the one that came to his mind first. Perhaps because the taste of him was still fresh on his lips. Perhaps because he would be the one tracking him down as a result of Ranphoros' anger. Yoven followed closely behind, in his large shadow, but Yoven could be taken along. Hugo was standing, alone on his side of the scale against everything that Barmond had wanted.

Barmond stood up. Picked up his lantern.

"Thank you for the information and the warnings," he said to her.

And he left.

**Author's Note:**

> This updates every Monday.


End file.
